Between the Black and White
by Serria
Summary: When L captures Light, he finds himself unwilling to relinquish his kindred spirit to the police, and instead has other plans to make Kira atone for his crimes. But the saga of Shinigami, genius intellect and old memories - BB - has only just begun.
1. A King in Check

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE**

Rating: T

Spoilers: Episode 25 - alternate events

Summary: A rash decision by L saves his life and leads to Light's capture. L, however, is unwilling to relinquish his kindred spirit to the police, and has other plans to make Kira atone for his crimes.

**A King in Check**

* * *

_Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language. -Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein_

Light Yagami wasn't L's friend. L didn't _have_ friends. A friendship required trust, alliance and understanding - there was none of that between he and the auburn-haired adolescent. Even if they weren't sworn enemies, the detective still would have never seriously exposed his vulnerable side to him. Friendships were risky and unnecessary. They set one up for betrayal and confusion, and they offered no benefits that he cared about. This was the way that he, L, the world's greatest private investigator, thought. He knew that this was also the way that Light Yagami, who was Kira, the world's greatest mass-murderer thought. Outwardly they would pretend, for the sake of acting acceptably in front of the Japanese task force, as well as for the opportunity to witness the other slip up. Inwardly it was entirely professional. They had accepted this from one another, and it suited both of their plots just fine.

But though the opinion was entirely irrelevant and he would, without fail, act as such, L was almost seventy-four percent certain that Light was his most favorite human. The detective wouldn't have seriously brought it up to his rival, that might be detrimental, but there was truth to his fondness. Why shouldn't there be? Light Yagami was brilliantly minded. In fact, L thought, there was a chance that Light was even more brilliant than he was. In their deductions, they often came up with similar theories and conclusions. And though Light had a higher percentage of a chance of being incorrect or slipping up when he was under pressure, the detective had a sinking feeling that the younger boy might be able to analyze more thoroughly and reach resolutions more rapidly.

This gem of a mind had been a precious asset, L found out, during the reign of the third Kira. Handcuffed together, they worked side by side, each one making up for the flaws of the other. Together, they could process information like a technologically-advanced supercomputer. At first, it annoyed the loner-by-nature-and-choice detective to be forced to work with a partner, but gradually he was filled with a surprising zeal, and he grew accustomed to it. The competitive nature between Light and L lead to the inevitable application of additional willpower and the stubbornness to not give up, even when the situation seemed like a lost cause.

"Ryuuzaki, what will we do now?" that very boy asked, his stern, amber eyes flickering with something entirely unreadable. It was a good question. Now that Higuchi had been caught, it should have been a matter of finding everything out about the Death Notes that they could, and then tracking down the original Kira. Unfortunately, Higuchi, the man who probably knew all of the answers, was cold and dead. A heart attack inconveniently struck him down as he was being arrested.

"I want to wait for the next batch of criminals to die," L answered, narrowing his eyes with irritation at memory of the suspicious and untimely death of the third Kira. "We don't have a lead anymore, but we know that there's a Kira still out there. That has to be the one who killed Higuchi. So all we can do is wait and try to find a pattern in the new victims. We have his notebook, too, so at least we know the rules that have to be followed."

Light shrugged in agreement, his face blank except for the determined curve of his eyebrows. Up until a few days ago, Light had been L's prime suspect, prisoner by a five-foot-long handcuff. Now that they had found a Death Note, a nonsensical rule about 'thirteen days' eliminated the rational possibility of Light ever being Kira.

Of course, he _was_ Kira, rational or not. L simply knew this with unexplainable faith. He also knew that he had been outsmarted, because what feeble evidence that he had was trampled upon by Light's cleverness. That damned teenager was able to plan a thousand moves in advance, moving his chess pawns with an elaborate pipework of intentions. Now that Kira had fortified his position, he would move in for the kill. A perfect defense was a good offense, after all. The irony was that L had told Light this almost a year ago, the first time that they had played tennis together and sized each other up.

So really, _what will we do now?_ translated into _what will _you_ do now?_ Obviously, the detective never tell his facetious companion what was on his mind. L understood that one wrong move would spring the trap, and he would become the dessert in Kira's victorious jaws. Initially, he had been overcome with rapid depression at the destruction of his reasoning behind his suspicions and the death of the one who might have clarification. But standing next to his proud enemy had, in the end, strengthened his resolve. He wouldn't let some murdering, idealistic eighteen-year-old defeat him. Light must have deliberated over the detective's probable moves long in advance, which meant that Light would be waiting for him to do what was expected. And what _was_ expected? The only way to avoid elimination was to think like L.

It was strange that he was trying to decide what he himself would logically do in this situation. He sat by a row of humming computers, chewing his thumb and ignoring the chatter of the task force. Light would know that he was dissatisfied with what the murder notebook revealed - its cruel list of rules that denied accuracy to L's theories, barred him from limiting Light's freedoms any longer on grounds of suspicion. Light _knew_ that L _knew._ So he would assume that L wouldn't just give up on the hypothesis that he had constructed a year ago, he would test his theory. He would assume that L would test the notebook. As far as L was concerned, this was confirmation enough that the rule was one hundred percent false.

"I think I know what I'll do, Light-kun," he announced, glancing over. That translated to _I know what I _won't_ do_. And by doing that, maybe he would have found the loophole in that brilliant scheme. The stakes had become too high to fall now, and no force - not Shinigami, not murder notebooks, not _friendship_ would stop him from bringing Kira to the blind eyes of justice.

_Every true genius is bound to be naive. -Friedrich Schiller _

Ide and Mogi died the next day.

For a split second, L was horrified and saddened as he saw them convulse and fall on the sidewalk through the video camera, moments after stepping out of the police car. But then, on an instant cue, L's emotions clicked off. His personal feelings dissipated and his critical, logical mind took over in the way that he had been trained. After all, one did not survive for very long if one abdicated control of lethal situations. Because of this understanding, L next deduced that Light wouldn't want the two police officers to die. It was risky and entirely sloppy, not his style at all, and yielded him no stable benefits. Which lead L to believe that Light hadn't done this at all. L squinted into the monitor to see a black notebook fall from nowhere into a pile of gray ash. Another cursed Death Note - had that flicker of movement been Rem the Shinigami?

L was also able to discern that because of the harsh sacrifice of these two police officers, he now had a lead.

"Oh dear God!" Soichiro Yagami, the father of Light, cried out. "I... I can't believe it!"

No, of course Soichiro couldn't believe it. No one believed that Light was Kira - it was their blind love that got in the way. L's eyes darted toward the youth in question - he also stood, staring. His lips were constricted into a thin line, and eyes that met every criteria for anxiety betrayed him when they were lit with red fire. To an investigator like L, his face said in clear words that this was not going according to his plan.

Not letting things go according to Light's plan was all L had dared think to accomplish. But he was ambitious, and hoped for much more.

Earlier that day, L had decided to do something that Light wouldn't suspect him of doing - he announced plans of leaving Tokyo. After the Higuchi incident it would now be obvious that L was stationed in Japan, he had said, and the new Kira would take advantage of that. A few minutes later, Matsuda came back with a printout of Kira's newest victims. L then declared that if he were to die today, Light and Misa must be Kira. The task force was mortified, reminding him that this was impossible, and demanded that he leave them alone, the poor youths who had face oh-so-much psychological trauma already. To which L shrugged and suggested one last final surprise visit to Misa, and a search of her apartment, before he left Japan. Just in case, because now they knew to look for Death Notes, and _oh, please stay in the building during this time, Light-kun. _Just in case.

That Death Note on the sidewalk had to belong to Rem. It didn't take much contemplation to assume that Rem had been acting to halt some movement - and the only logical explanation was that she didn't want the police to find another Death Note. "Someone, please go retrieve that notebook," L commanded without expression. "Also, I want to know what happened to Rem."

"What?! But Ryuuzaki!" Matsuda wailed. "Kira's watching!"

"I'm sixty-eight percent certain that it's Rem's notebook," he answered definitely, though really his certainty was much higher. "That would mean it's another 'Death Note'. And I'm one hundred perfect sure that if it just sits on the sidewalk, something worse will happen."

Critical analysis didn't leave much time for mourning.

L didn't know what part of the actions he had taken had triggered this particular scenario, but his murky objective was becoming clear. Light's genuine surprise and fear at Ide and Mogi's heart attacks proved that he _did_ have some level of control, for why else would it be unexpected? To L, this meant that the thirteen day rule was definitely false, because testing it would have been the logical move... and then would Rem have killed him instead? In the time that they had known her, Rem had been reluctant to talk about the rules of the Death Note, and answered in short, quick words only. She didn't want humans to know the truth, it seemed. Either way, if Light did have a level on control, this also meant that somehow, Light had killed Higuchi.

If Light could use the Shinigami as a tool, even though they were clearly unruly, was that how he did it? But no, up until this point, Rem had been with Higuchi. There had to be some way to find out... should he spend time examining the data?

No. Investigation would have to be immediate, before Light could prepare. If L gave him enough time, that adolescent would run through every possible scenario and arrange for himself a fortunate outcome, and that was the last thing that he wanted. Only through rash movements can you outwit someone more meticulous than you are.

The edgy look in Light's forced expression assured L that the pawns were set in a window of opportunity, and there was a two percent chance that he could perhaps put Kira's king in 'check'.

_The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain neutrality during times of moral crisis. -Dante Alighieri_

Everything had been reduced to chaos. Soichiro Yagami was yelling on his yell phone, and Aizawa and Matsuda were screaming their own opinions. Aiber and Wedy were in the corner, swearing fiercely at one another and occasionally at L - L's initial plan had been to send Wedy into Misa's house, in which case it seemed that she would be the dead one right now. Only Light and L sat in silence on the couches. Light's chin rested on his hands, elbows in his knees as he tried to hide the paranoia that was very clear to the investigator. L watched everyone else carefully, until the noise had died down somewhat.

"Yagami-san... Aizawa-san, and Matsuda-san, too," L said quietly. "It's your duty to explain the deaths of Mogi-san and Ide-san to the police. Please tell them everything that you feel the need to, only please exclude the fact that I am here now, as well as this location. Be careful as well, because the real Kira is still out there."

Soichiro nodded, looking as though he hadn't slept in months even though the tragic event had only happened an hour ago. "I will take responsibility for it. We will go to the station and... explain what needs to be explained. Come on, Light."

To initiate the climax of the battle of wits, all the key players had to be present. Especially the enemy mastermind. "Yagami-san, leave your son here. Unless you want the police knowing that I suspected him of being Kira. I'm afraid that such a thing would take more explaining than you'll want to do, and with tensions so high, it will also be bad for Light-kun."

Their eyes flickered and met. L had moved the first pawn to Light's disadvantage. It baited the next move:

"It's alright, Dad. I'll stay here." He was controlling his breathing into an unperplexed, steady movement. He knew that his opponent was going to test him, but he was still confident in his defenses.

So the officers that still had their lives left, and out the window L could see the police car whirring with screeching sirens down the street. That noise was the gong declaring a lethal duel, a clashing of blades. This left the room empty of everyone except for L, Light, Aiber and Wedy, and then there was Watari over in the security room. These would be the pieces on the chess board, and the game was about to begin.

There was a silence for a moment as the two youths sat on the couches, opposite from one another, debating their next moves. Aiber hovered over them, and Wedy leaned against the wall.

Finally, L spoke. _The best defense is a strong offense. _"Light-kun, I have an interesting theory concerning the Kira case."

"You do? And what's that?" He looked up in the perfect calculated gaze of idle curiosity, expertly mixed in with wearing-down disconcert, credited to their comrades' death. It was a legitimate concoction of appropriateness, nothing that should have been suspicious at all. But it was.

L didn't meet that gaze, he just stared ahead as he rested his chin on his upright knees. "The new Kira is the same as the original Kira. And there is a good possibility that it could be you."

"...What?" Light looked surprised, as if caught off guard, and then sighed in exasperation. "Are you still convinced, after everything, that I'm Kira?"

"My theory stems from the fact that Higuchi died so immediately. Misa wasn't there to see him, but Light-kun was. The event wasn't being broadcast on live television, so no one outside of the police would even know about it. Assuming that Light Yagami was once a Kira, and went in a dormant state during long imprisonment, he could have reawaken as the only one who would know instantly to eliminate evidence."

"How would I have killed Higuchi?" Light asked, laughing a little, but it was a very controlled and planned out sound. "Oh, I remember. I was holding that Death Note at that time, too! I suppose that I understand why you came up with this theory, then. Maybe I can dispel your suspicions. Let's look and see if Higuchi's name is written down right now." He stood up, walking toward the table.

As expected. Now to move another chess piece in the offense: "Aiber, apprehend him, please. Kira shouldn't be touching the murder notebook."

In three seconds, Aiber had run forward across the playing board, the shape of the detective's own alias with two squares up, one square to the left. The burly con-artist grabbed Light's elbows and twisted them behind his back in an iron-lock hold. It was the first check of the white King, but not yet binding enough, so the other chess master could still retaliate. Light put on a face of innocent confusion, and he wasn't resisting in order to uphold his act. "Can you please be serious, Ryuuzaki? Let me go please, Aiber, this is just Ryuuzaki's dumb joke."

L had moved forward a knight and taken Light's rook - his ability to move. That was one strike more. Light had responded by moving his Bishop - playing the card of innocence once again. That bishop was a fierce player, given indefinite movement through the diagonals of the squares, and if L couldn't find what he was looking for that would be his downfall. He countered it with a second knight: "Wedy, if Light-kun was hiding a Death Note on him, where would it be?"

The professional burglar waltzed over to Light, who was suddenly very still. Perhaps an act of perceived compliance. Wedy tossed her head and lifted her sunglasses on her blonde head. She then put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down, pressing the loose fabric against his skin as she searched him. Shirt, empty. Pants, empty. Nothing in the pockets at all.

"Alright, now are you satisfied, Ryuuzaki?" the bishop spoke, attacking again with a show guiltlessness.

Wedy then moved behind Light, weaving herself between Aiber's arms. The thief lingered there for a second, her probing hands checking everywhere one more time. Then, she unhooked Light's wristwatch. "This is pretty," she commented, holding it up into the light and squinting as she determined the monetary value. "Rather expensive for a middle-class boy like yourself."

"I didn't steal it," Light responded calmly, rolling his eyes for extra effect. "My father gave it to me as a present."

L did recall that Light always wore this bronze watch, and for apparently the legit reason of sentimental value. It could have been excusable. He glowered at the adolescent through the raven locks of hair that fell haphazardly over his own eyes - and then an idea dawned upon him. Was it possible...? "Wedy, does that watch... unfold somehow?"

Immediately, Light tensed. He could tell because very suddenly he was _too_ calm, which was entirely deceptive. With that, he knew it to be true. Light's king was in _check _again.

"Sure. These types have little compartments where you can adjust the clockwork, if you want. It connects to the knobs that set the time." She tinkered with it, as to prove her point. "Hardly big enough to hold a notebook, though." Then she, finished, pulling out the little bronze tray from under the numbered plate. "It can't hold anything, just ...just a... scrap of paper?"

There were two hearts that suddenly stopped beating. One was Light's, whose color had drained from his face, leaving something ashen and in disbelief, something that was too shocked to even tremble. The second was L, who was also too shocked to speak, because the chances were at less than two percent that he would stumble across any blunder of Light Yagami's. Momentarily, everything was completely surreal. It was the dreams that L had when he slept, and the nightmares of Light's.

"Kyosuke Higuchi," Wedy read out loud, interrupting the deathly silence.

_Check-mate._

And suddenly, everything was alive again. Light's eyes widened and twitched as the full effect of the situation hit him like a sledgehammer. Calm became disbelief, disbelief turned frantic, and then there was terrified denial.

"What the hell is this?" he shouted, trying to tear away from Aiber's heavy grip, which had tightened. "You're full of it, Ryuuzaki! You're so upset that you lost your lead that now you're framing me! I don't know anything about this! Let _go!_"

Critical analysis leaves little room for mourning.

"Watari!" L jumped to his feet and yelled into the security speakers. "Bring handcuffs, please!"

"This isn't true! There has to be a reasonable explanation!" Hyserically, he twisted and writhed. "Ryuuzaki, listen! I didn't have my watch while I was in solitary confinement. Kira could have known! He could have planted evidence! It's inconclusive! You said yourself, I lost my memory if I was ever Kira!"

"It doesn't matter what you remember. You're Kira, and with my evidence, you will be convicted as such."

Light broke free of Aiber's hold, dashing away. He ran to the black notebook that lay on the counter, a panick-stricken fear drenching his face. Probably habitual more than voluntary, he clutched the Death Note like a frightened child with a favorite blanket, backing up.

"Light-kun's memory has returned?" L asked accusingly, approaching him. "Like I thought. Perhaps this time, he will be able to give us the answers that we need to end this all for good, and ensure that there is never another Kira again."

"Stay back!" he cried out with horrified desperation.

"Or what?" L challenged, almost overcome with his own repressed emotions. "You'll write my name in there? Aiber's? Wedy's? Watari's? You don't know our real names. It would be better for you to fall with grace and accept your defeat." L had reached Light, and he stood right in front of him, holding a heavy stare. "The reasonable course of action for you is to surrender and cooperate. Don't waste your energy in denial."

Light lost his breath - a ragged, wretched sound as if his lungs were wracked with shards of glass. Then, as if in response, he tried to keep playing chess even though his king was taken: he folded his shaking fingers into a fist and lunged forward at his enemy, like venomous snake springing forth.

L turned his face to receive less sting for the blow. He stepped back to gain distance, and immediately dropped his upper body, planting his palms on the ground. His right leg shot up, exploding like a canon, and his heel caught under Light's jaw. Light recoiled, and turned out of firing range for L's kicks. He sidestepped to L's ribs, and he dropped his weight, arms shooting forward and grabbing at L's throat to choke him.

There was a moment when their eyes, one a fiery amber and the other charcoaled ebony, locked in hatred.

Hatred is a useless concept that distorts neutral judgment. Something, L conjectured, that was not much different from love.

Because he couldn't wrench away Light's claw-like fingers that clamped into his throat, cutting off his source of air, L pressed his feet against the floor and pushed himself backwards. This movement caused Light to fall forward, and then L turned through the weak points between his fingers. While doing this, he clasped on to Light's hands and jerked one completely off. Without a second thought, he concentrated both of his free limbs on this hand. One wrapped around the palm, the other seized a few fingers, and he pushed them backwards with a sudden force that a sickening _crack_ was heard as the thin bones broke.

Light howled like a feral cat in pain, withdrawing the damaged hand. He seemed almost delirious in a berserk craze - logical thinking was a thing of the past. He swung his good fist forward, smashing into L. As the fist connected with his cheek, L responded by grabbing this one too, meaning to give it the same treatment.

They were interrupted by the large and muscled Aiber, who had run to them and grabbed Light by the shoulders. He wrapped his hand under the youth's flailing arms, hauling him off of L. His voice was cordial and mocking as he held the youth back. "Calm down, kiddo, there's three of us here against just you, so you're only hurting yourself. Make that four! Hello, Watari."

The presence of the old man bearing handcuffs hardly sedated the wild look in Light's eyes. L watched him fastidiously as he stood up and wiped the blood from his lip that must have broken during the brunette's attacks. "Wedy, help Aiber hold him. Watari, go ahead. Let's make this the end of Kira."

L felt no sympathy at Light's terror. He felt nothing as they folded his arms behind his back, and Watari tightly clamped on the shackles. There was nothing in his mind except for mild irritation when his rival continued to toss and struggle, as if escape was still an option. The fact that he was acting so uncoordinated was proof that Light knew he had lost, and to L he was reduced to the status of a hopelessly defeated common criminal. In fact, it made him angry. Light was more quick-witted than he, where was the retaliation? The counter-move?

But there was no counter-move. None, because this situation was the result of a rash, uncalculated stroke of luck. They had been two stags running in the same rhythm, breathing in same tempo. When Light began to speed up to his inevitable victory, L decided to stop and turn the other way altogether. Because he _couldn't_ outrun Light. He admitted it freely. Light was faster. He just stumbled over a stone in his path.

Justice will prevail.

"You're wrong in doing this!" Light screamed, wrestling violently against the restraining cuffs and hands. "You're wrong, you don't understand! The world is-"

"Don't try to talk your way out of this-"

"-_rotten_!"

It was desperate pleading that reminded L of when Light must have lost his memories. Begging him to let him out of imprisonment, begging his father not to shoot him. L was entirely resistant to such a tactic, and he _knew_ that Light wasn't an innocent. So why did it vex him even more that he was again speaking sincerely? Why did he find himself furious instead of rejoicing at this victory?

"Please, Ryuuzaki!" Eyes that had captivated many a pawn during his reign gazed upon him with that false sincerity, those facetious promises and lies of a better world. "You know me better than anyone. You have to understand!"

L looked upon Light, who had been slammed down humbly to his knees by heavy hands on his shoulders. The detective's face was of stony indifference. "I understand that you are a mass murderer. I have all the faith that I need for my convictions. Justice cannot be dealt by individuals who act as gods over humanity, there is nothing more fallible. It is more correct to place belief in an established system of law, and punish the evil mercilessly."

"_Then punish yourself_!"

"I'm not going to argue with a captured criminal," L said dispassionately to mask the annoyance that he felt. "And believe me, Kira, you can consider yourself captured." He approached Light, grabbing his auburn hair tightly. For a moment he gazed down at the prisoner, at the scalp which encased the most precious brain in the world. And then he curled his fist and smashed it into that brilliant, foolish head, hitting at the crack of gunfire. Light's eyes closed as he fell into immediate unconsciousness.

Wedy whistled under her breath, standing up next to the limp body. "You impress me as much as ever, L. I almost thought that you'd let him off the hook since he's your friend. But you do put work above everything else, eh? You aren't the world's greatest detective for nothing."

L didn't have an answer to that. He also stood, tucking his hands into his jeans' pockets. "Aiber, Wedy, please don't mention this to anyone. Not even the police, though since you aren't law-abiding citizens that shouldn't be a problem. Please act as though nothing has happened."

"What do you want done with _him_?" Watari asked, his mildly wrinkled face distorted into concern that awaited orders.

"I need some time to work out the details. Take him to a holding cell, where the task force won't run across him. Wedy, I want you to search Misa's apartment. Don't worry, I believe Rem is dead now, as strange as it sounds for a Shinigami, and it's likely she who killed Ide and Mogi. There is probably a Death Note to be found with Misa. The police will arrest her there as Kira."

The instructions felt dull, like the feeling during the last few moves of a Solitaire game when one already has achieved victory, and had to clean up the last of the cards. L couldn't take his eyes off of Light as Aiber picked him up in his arms and carried him away like a rag-doll.

_It is not yet clear that intelligence has any long-term survival value. -Stephen William Hawking_**  
**

The chaos hadn't died down, even two days later. L had claimed ignorance when Soichiro Yagami had inquired as to the whereabouts of his son, and said simply that Light had left not long after the police had, after saying that there was something that he wanted to check out. Soichiro believed the excuse, for Light was unruly and acted upon his own decisions, but it still made the Chief furious when there wasn't a return within 24 hours. He had contacted the police station and sent out a missing person warrant. L let this be, though he wryly noted that a father missed his son who was no further than thirteen floors below him. It wouldn't be long before the man became obsessive enough to hinder L's plans, and questioned him further. In which case, he might not lie.

Critical analysis leaves little room for mourning.

"I'll contact Interpol about receiving Light, Ryuuzaki," Watari said. "Misa's in prison on further suspicion of being Kira, and we have three Death Notes - Higuchi's, Misa's, and Rem's. They will be coming to get her soon enough. But she's a pawn and useless without the mastermind."

"No," L replied automatically. He sat, deep in thought, next to a bowl of chocolate chips. Occasionally he picked one up, holding it between two fingers, and injected it under his tongue, feeling the chocolate melt until it was reduced to brown liquid.

"If it's Soichiro you're worried about for when he finds out the truth about his son, then it's something he'll have to face eventually. You can't take responsibility for his feelings. The only obligation you have is to your job."

"It's not that," he answered, not looking at the only man in the world that he was allowed to trust. His eyes were instead on the candy, and this time he grabbed a handful of the delicacies. "I've been contemplating my next move for these passed two days, and all factors considered - the government is admittedly infallible, too, and following the original plan could be detrimental."

Watari paused, gazing at L with old eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want the world to have anything more to do with the Death Notes. They are a murder weapon of enormous scale, no different from an atomic bomb, and I regret their very existence. Kira has become a plague, and to defeat it entirely, I have to go to the source - and that is the notebooks and the knowledge of them. If I turn them over to Interpol, some police group might become the next Kira. It's injustice to judge as quickly as the notebook kills, but if the government is doing it, how could I convict them? Even if I burn the weapons now, if I give them Light they will just torture the answers out of him anyway."

Watari didn't answer. He sipped his coffee instead, letting L continue.

"Instead I'll create the scenario where Kira has disappeared completely. With Misa, Light and the Death Notes out of the picture, the judgments will end."

"Interpol won't be satisfied with such a thing," Watari argued, but gently. "Kira will be on a high priority list until they have proof of immobilization, and if they don't get that, faith in L will dissipate."

"They will. I'm giving them Misa. I'll tell them that she's Kira, and I'll give them evidence. I'll leave out the bit about the notebooks. They'll believe me, especially since the killings are going to stop anyhow."

"Doesn't that defeat your previous point? Give them Light instead, he's more likely to resist torture for longer, and smart enough to lie."

L shook his head, ignoring the rock that felt as though it were sitting in his stomach. "No. I believe that Misa lost her memory once, and voluntarily so. She will definitely do it again if she's protecting Light."

Watari nodded, a small bob of his head. He cleared his throat, which meant that he was holding back his personal opinion. "Then we'll burn the notebooks and privately execute Light. The rules say that the notebooks shouldn't be destroyed, but I agree with you that such a rule is too convenient for Light, and likely also false."

There is something peculiar about neutrality. When one is one hundred percent neutral and logical, the inevitable victories that one achieves taste dull and lifeless.

"Does Kira really deserve such a merciful death?" L finally said, more of a statement than a question. "To kill him now would make a martyr out of him for his supposed holy crusade. In his death he would complete his undeserved role as a Messiah. I don't want him to die thinking that he was righteous. Instead I'll do what I said that I'd do a year ago - I'm going to show him what true justice is."

Watari looked as though he wanted to argue and say something, but he probably knew that L wouldn't listen. L had finally reached a concrete decision, and he meant to act upon it. No, it didn't make sense, because every second that Light Yagami was alive was a second closer to his own potential defeat. But if he was going to win, then he wanted a victory. A real victory.

"So what will you do, Ryuuzaki?" Watari finally asked when L was lost in thought.

He would be doing something that he never would have expected. Who knew that this one case, even if it was the most difficult to date, would have such an impact on him? L hadn't lost his fierce drive to conquer evil, that was ever-present inside of him. So that was it: he was going to conquer. That, and he didn't want to relinquish his kindred spirit to his doom. Not yet, anyway.

_Injustice is relatively easy to bear. What stings is justice. -Henry Louis Mencken_

It was ironic that Light was imprisoned under L's investigation again, because in the past a single imprisonment was all it took. This time, however, Light was confined in the binding chair that had once held Misa Amane, in a holding cell on one of the lower floors of the headquarters building. The entire area was a tribute to modern technology's concept of high security - special access codes were required just to enter the floor. More access codes were called for to enter the hallway with rows of cells lining it left and right. And finally, an access code and a key card were needed to enter the thick, steel door to the room that held the world's most deadly serial killer. And everywhere, there were video cameras that only Watari could watch.

_Yes_, L thought, as he walked through the hallway that lead to Light's prison. _It would all be wrapped up soon_. During Light's unconsciousness, they had seated him on the heavy, steel chair. His arms had been lifted above his head and they were handcuffed in place there along the back of the apparatus. His broken fingers hadn't been more than loosely bandaged, and the now fully awake youth tugged at his arms, probably subconsciously from the stinging pain. There were leather straps around his waist and his ankles, preventing much movement at all. The excessive restraints weren't necessary, L admitted to himself, because it wasn't impossible to physically overpower Light. Once in the safety of the cell, further limitation of movement was entirely a psychological affliction to encourage cooperation. That was why the culprit had been kept in complete solitude for the past two days, without any food or water.

When L approached his cell, Light's downcast eyes perked upward. His face was pale, and dark circles under his eyes blended with the bruises that garnished his expression. His dry, cracked lips parted slightly, hesitating before any words came out. He watched as his enemy opened the door with a smooth motion, and then in a weak voice, void of moisture, he said, "It's inconclusive. I'm not Kira."

"You're still saying that?" L asked, raising his black eyebrows, but he supposed that it would be only natural. Most criminals seemed to deny their crimes when L caught them, even though he was never wrong and they knew it.

"I didn't make a confession before, either," he insisted, those hardened amber eyes never leaving L's. "I was only distraught at the evidence planted against me."

L shook his head slightly, rejecting Light's attempts at wavering his resolve.

"What, you're going to give up? When the real Kira is somewhere out there?" Light said with forced disbelief, which really didn't have the fully intended effect, because he looked scared and tired. "This isn't like L at all, to finish a case when it's not for certain!"

"It's for certain," L said simply, stating the obvious that they both knew. "I'd prefer that you stop pretending, because there is something that I would like to discuss with you."

Light's face twisted into something even more desperate and pathetic. "Ryuuzaki, you have to believe me! I'm not Kira!"

The detective raised one hand from his pocket, and Light flinched, as if expecting L to hit him again. But instead, he brought his thumbnail to his mouth, clicking it against his teeth as he spoke. "Light-kun doesn't fully comprehend this situation. It doesn't matter any longer what you say or deny, because I have all the evidence that I need. I am _L_ - this means that on my word, Interpol will take you as Kira, and so will sixty-three separate countries, without a second thought. It's enough that _I _know that you're Kira. Also, with Misa also incarcerated, my guess is that criminals might actually stop dying this time. Suffice to say, I'm uninterested in your denial."

Light's eyes widened under his shaggy, tousled brown hair, and he pulled aggressively against the chains above him. Despite his efforts, the chains did not budge and his hands remained suspended above him.

"I'm not here for a confession. Please take note that if I give you to Interpol, they won't be looking for a confession, either. You're an international criminal responsible for mass murder on a phenomenal scale. What they will be looking for is answers and explanations. They will not care about _why _you did it. All they want to know is _how._ Light-kun may tighten his lips initially, but what is his level of pain tolerance, I wonder?"

Again, the panicked prisoner strained at the handcuffs. Unfortunately for him, the density of soft human skin was proven inferior to steel, and they offered him no freedom. Indeed, it would be his wrists that broke before the restraints did.

"I don't understand why this surprises you. You're highly intelligent, and I would have thought that you would have considered the consequences of your actions, as you considered the consequences of every other move you made. Do not think that I'm bluffing either. There would be no trial and no defense for you. You would be tortured until you are rendered useless, and then you would die by private execution. That's how it always is with terrorists. It's what they didn't tell you on the public news station that you so often frequented."

Light's pale face, beaded with perspiration, suddenly flushed. His wild eyes rapidly dawned with passion. "Kira is no terrorist!" His voice shook, and he caught his breath to continue. "I never once killed uselessly, Ryuuzaki! _Never_! I knew that killing was a crime, but it was the only way! No one was doing anything! People were content to sit and watch the world rot, because they don't have the motivation or the willpower to make a change! But I can. I can change the world, and I'll carry the burden of the sin! Get rid of the rotten people, and then there will be only kind ones left. Then people will never have to be afraid to walk the streets at night! No one will have to be afraid anymore! That's not terrorism at all!"

L was quiet for a moment, studying Light's features as the youth realized that the words had actually left his mouth. Two days of not eating or drinking can indeed lead to rash decisions and words. As intended.

Light swallowed, knowing it was too late to withdraw his admission. "Don't you see? You're a detective who deals with all kinds of atrocious crimes. You want to stop crime too, don't you? If you loved the world like I do, you would have done the same thing in my position."

The investigator sucked on his knuckle for a few seconds before answering, gnawing slightly on the skin. Then he spoke. "Your argument is irrelevant, because the hypothetical is not reality. _This_ is reality." At that, he leaned forward and grabbed one of Light's trembling wrists, shaking it slightly to emphasize the handcuff. Then he let go. "We're both idealists, but the difference between you and I is that I'm less of an idiot. The government calls my side justice, and that's ultimately the deciding factor. I'm curious, how long did you think that Kira would last?"

The brunette glared, hot amber fire. "You bastard... you don't care about the world. All you care about is winning!"

The detective shrugged, ignoring the irritation that he suddenly felt. "No. I care about the world. I just believe that no one should have the power that you had, because it is corrupting and miserable. More than anything, it is fallible, and even if Light's intentions are good he is still doing an evil act. This is what I believe." After surmising, he added, "Also, it's unbeneficial for you to be impolite. I'm the one in charge of whether or not you are breathing."

The response was a wretched, pained laugh. "It hardly matters now, right? They're coming to get me, and I can't have much time before I die. Damn it, I can't believe that for a moment back then I was actually regretting that you were going to die. Did you know that, _L_? You were supposed to die. Rem was going to kill you."

L was forced to hesitation. He had already guessed that the meticulous Light had planned his downfall, and he had been in a very near check-mate. Something else in the words prodded at his conscience... Light was going to regret it? "Don't flatter yourself, Kira. Interpol isn't coming to get you. Now we're going to discuss the reason why I came to see you in the first place."

"What?" Honest surprise submerged his vocalization. "Who is, then?"

"It's inconvenient for me if any big organization learns all that there is to know about the Death Notes. I believe that if more people know about them, the chances that there will one day be another Kira will increase. Especially with Light Yagami's knowledge on record. In order to defeat Kira, I have to defeat the Death Notes themselves until this whole thing is just a bad dream to awake from. That's why I'm not submitting you to anyone. Only when Kira is erased can L have won."

Light's pupils minimized as his cheeks lost their color. His voice was a ragged whisper as he reached the rational deduction. "S-so you're just going to kill me now, right?"

"That would be the logical thing to do. I could kill Light Yagami and it would all be over definitely. He is the most dangerous Kira, in fact the most dangerous thing in the world if he has his murder weapon." L stopped momentarily to watch Light, who was something between frozen in fear and squirming with anticipation. "But why should I let him die so easily? That would be merciful, and I promised him punishment. The first time that I spoke to you, I vowed to show you true justice."

"Torturing me isn't justice!"

"No, I wouldn't do such an unrefined thing without a sensible, unbiased purpose in mind. Instead, your punishment can be redemption." He stared at Light through harsh eyes. "To show you justice, the only thing I can do is to make you serve it. The Kira case is closed, so I'm going to relocate. You will come with me and work with me to solve cases, similar to how we caught Higuchi. I'll give you the chance to use your intellect for a correct purpose. Not that you can ever fully atone for your previous atrocities, but if you want to regain your humanity then you could make an effort."

Light's irises flickered as he took in what the raven-haired man was saying. Then he grunted out a segment of laughter in disbelief, and a retort that sounded choked. "Work with you? Why would the great, anti-social L offer such a thing?"

"Because you were useful before. It seems like a shame to let a sharp mind go to waste, but even more so I'm reluctant to give you a martyr's death when you don't deserve to be a Messiah. This is my conclusion after critical analysis. If you refuse, I will simply lock you somewhere where you'll never see the light of day again, in a place you'll never leave, and no one will know where you are except for me. It's simple - if you aren't going to compensate, then the world has no use for you and you can rot."

L almost expected Light to hiss out his negation. He was a stubborn youth, and probably furious enough to let the hell he was holding back loose. But Light's eyes were on the floor again as he thought, and his features were empty of malice. When he raised his head again to meet L's gaze, he said, "You do misunderstand me, no matter what you say. Everything that I've done, I've done to stop crime in order to make the world a better place. If you're giving me the opportunity to continue my dream, then that's an opportunity that I'm glad to take. The Death Note was only one of many methods. I can take yours, too."

The detective's mouth unhinged in surprise. He had been expecting more of a fight. After all, this was Light Yagami... no, of course. L realized then what Light was probably thinking about. "Don't fall into misunderstandings, Light-kun. In the place that we go, there won't be any escape for you. You still won't leave captivity until your own funeral, no matter what stunt you pull. Even if you discard your memories again and are brought back to innocence. In my eyes, someone as brilliant as Light Yagami is the most dangerous thing in the world if he has a Death Note, and I will never allow a way for him to touch one again."

Light's lips tightened into a thin line, but he did not say anything. Though he was still shaking slightly, his eyes had recovered their composure and they fiercely made their declaration. L knew full well that it wouldn't matter how much he warned Light. He would without a doubt try to find his murder weapon again, even if it took him years and years. He might never believe that he had been wrong.

L knew that he should follow logic and wisdom, and kill him here to end it all. He also knew that he wouldn't be doing such a thing, and this fact worried him.

_-TBC . . . _

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Author's Notes: 

1. I hope that the quotes aren't distracting... I wanted a new way to separate time lines, and for some reason they felt really appropriate. Every quote will reflect the text it is by, in some form or another, or the story as a whole.

2. I'd like to update this, because I have an idea of where I want it to go - but at the same time it feels okay as a one-shot to me.

3. Interpol - International Criminal Police Organization

4. The big question - will this be shounen-ai? I'm not telling. (I don't know.)

I hope you enjoyed! But if you did... I have several fics to update, so this one may not get attention soon. If you didn't, no worries! Thanks for reading! -Serria


	2. The Sky and the Sea

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor the quotes that I'm using (they are all credited).**  
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**The Sky and the Sea**

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"_Justice, voiceless, unseen, seeth thee when thou sleepest and when thou goest forth and when thou liest down. Continually doth she attend thee, now aslant thy course, now at a later time. These lines are from a section of doubtful or spurious fragments." -Aeschylus_

_Light was drowning._

_All he could see, through eyelids which squinted to banish blinding water drops, was an ocean of midnight water. There was no land in sight. He kicked desperately at his feet to tread through the deadly liquid and stay afloat, but there were chains on his ankles and all that he managed to do was flail violently. The weights battled at his feet and with every second it became harder to resist their temptation to stop struggling and just sink below the surface. He took gasping breaths, trying to latch on to something, anything, but there was nothing to save him._

_He couldn't even scream, because that was a waste of precious oxygen. He still resisted with unwavering determination - give me my life! - but a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that maybe this was pointless. Maybe giving in to the inevitable and relaxing would make the end a little less painless. _

When Light woke up, he noticed three things. The first thing he noticed was the heavy rumble of an engine and the vibration of being in some moving vehicle. There was the unmistakable feeling of movement. It was a weightless feeling of being a passenger on a vessel greater than he was, even though he was laying still it was simply perception. The second thing that he noticed was that when he opened his eyes, he only saw nothingness, just an absolute black. This meant that he was blindfolded, he realized groggily, though he couldn't quite remember why. The third thing was that his arms ached. Without much vigor he tried to shift them into a more comfortable position, but they refused the command. Hard metal encircled his wrists behind his back - they were handcuffed there, and tightly. So tight that his shoulder blades protruded out together, sending a wave of wincing protest shivering down his spine.

His head was muddled, and he was floating in a daze. The energy in him had not yet returned, and there was nothing to power his mind or his body. So he lay there, waiting for the memories to mercifully return and offer an explanation.

"No, I'd rather not take on the Hossler case," a voice in the English language stated from not far away. Though its manner of speaking was entirely different than when it was in Japanese, right down to the rhythm and accent, it sounded familiar. After a second of thought, Light was able to deduce that it belonged to none other than L.

"It's beyond me why not," another voice in English stated, an older and more eloquent one. Frowning under the blindfold, Light placed it as Watari. "I was under the impression that you liked serial killers."

"I like interesting cases. That's all. There are no other prerequisites."

"Clearly. But historically these were the ones that you found interesting." Watari chuckled placidly. "But I suppose nothing could compare after the Kira case. I could find you a case of copyright infringement, for a change of pace."

At the words _after the Kira case_, Light grimaced. That was the thing that his memories had been foggy about. It was surreal, it was hard to believe. His head was aching but he vaguely remembered his conversation with L in that prison cell. L, who had just by chance uncovered the only defense mechanism that he had had left after the Death Note left his hands - a piece of the paper in his watch. Was it really all over? Had he really been captured? He, Light Yagami, who had time and time again evaded defeat through meticulous planning and sheer luck? The steel that claimed his wrists sternly gave all the answer that he needed.

"Copyright infringement, huh?" said L chipperly. "Actually, I've become increasingly interested in the music industry. I thought that I might start cracking down on fiendish teenagers who illegally download. What better way to express my patronage to Justice?"

Watari laughed again, warmly and fondly. And then after a pause, with his voice not warm at all, he said, "I believe that our guest is awake."

"I detected that, too," L responded. His language of choice then switched to Japanese as he called, "Good morning, Light Yagami."

Light grit his teeth and carefully sat up - easier said than done at his low level of energy and with hands bound behind his back. He had been laying on something similar to a couch, he noticed, but everything else was still hazy. He had been captured by his enemy, that he knew. "Is it really morning?"

"That would depend on where we are," L answered. His voice was fairly near by, an estimated seven to twelve feet away. The width of a room. What could that mean? Were they all in some kind of room together, on whatever vehicle this was? It was too large to be a car, so could it be a bus?

"And where are we?" he inquired, paying careful attention to the sounds around him. Inwardly he tried to map the area.

"It's debatable, but I would say that we aren't really anywhere right now."

If there hadn't been an intruding blindfold that would make the efforts useless, he would have glared. As it was, he sighed. "So we're over an ocean, right? In an airplane?"

"Light-kun is smart for coming to such a conclusion, but stupid for thinking that I would confirm it one way or another."

"Why not?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level and calm but worried that it sounded childish. The last thing that he wanted was to sound pathetic, because there was no way that L would ever sympathize with that. This was a man who wouldn't sympathize with _anything_. Light instead tried to sound reasonable. "Why am I blindfolded? I told you that I'd work with you, and even if I could see I doubt that I could get away."

"The answer for both questions is because you are smart," the detective said simply. "You should feel complimented that I think so highly of you. This is a security measure. I'm not about to take unnecessary risks with a brilliant serial killer like Kira."

Light shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders already aching. It felt as though he had never had relief from the tension that built up when he hands were handcuffed behind his back for fifty days straight, and that was months ago. He supposed that he should be grateful that at least his ankles weren't restrained this time. Slowly, while wondering if L and Watari were watching him (who was he kidding? L was always watching him), he moved his legs off the couch and onto the floor. His bare feet met with thin carpet, the short kind that was easily vacuumed. A truck or a boat would probably not have carpet in the first place, so he concluded that they really were in some sort of aircraft. Small, private jets would be richly furnished, and being as L and Watari were extremely well off financially and lived like it, it only seemed natural that this would be their vehicle of choice.

He wondered what they would do if he stood up and explored his surroundings, as well as he could blindfolded and restrained at least. Any information would help. Though he had to grit his teeth at the thought of stumbling through darkness without even his hands to balance him, all in front of his greatest enemy.

"Why are you acting so suspiciously, Light-kun?"

Light tensed. "Suspicious? What's there left for you to be suspicious of, _L_?" He called him 'L' instead of the more friendly 'Ryuuzaki' on purpose, though after it came out he bit his tongue for how pointless such a vituperation was. If he acted spitefully, the detective would hardly come to trust him enough to remove the restraints. It would be more beneficial to act civil and defeated, though that was a blow to his pride that he wasn't sure if he could handle right now.

L had clearly noticed the choice in name, because his tone became more detached and more cold. "You're getting defensive. I hope that you aren't rethinking our bargain so soon. I have opted to forget about the Death Notes and their relevancy once, but if I have reason to believe that you're still a threat-"

"You'll torture me again?" Light snapped, interrupting. "Like the CIA or whoever would?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes. I believe that this shouldn't come as any surprise, being as you are essentially a terrorist, you've forfeited your rights in favor of the safety of others. I hope my position is clear to you, Light-kun."

He pulled his legs up and back on the couch, suddenly feeling furious, disgusted, frightened and weary all at the same time. "It's very clear," he said roughly, laying down again. He knew that they were watching him, and he hated that, so he turned his back to the sound of their voices. Light curled his knees in somewhat of a defensive position, trying to rid himself of the horrible speculation that might have been the truth:

Kira, the only one willing to act as true justice on this rotten Earth, was dead for good. He wished that he could fall asleep, and when he woke up all would be right again.

But all he would dream about would be drowning.

"_Justice is the firm and continuous desire to render to everyone that which is his due." -Justinian_

The answers to Light's catechizing were as follows: they were in a private jet, a Hermes FA6500, that was owned by L. He had rented the aircraft several times earlier in his career, but when his finances became as enormous as they were after numerous successful cases, he simply purchased it. It was registered under one of his many aliases, and because of the soundproof main area, void of a single video camera, none of the pilots ever asked questions about his work. It suited his purposes - it was spacious enough, with a few couches along walls, a television and a mini-fridge. They had laid the convict down on one of the said couches across the room, and they had done so when he was asleep - they even drugged him during the process to ensure that he wouldn't record details of the journey into his sharp, relentless calculations.

The other answer was that they were above the Pacific ocean currently, and they would continue to be so for some time. When they reached San Francisco, California, they would take a short half-hour intermission to change pilots and restock on American desserts (for L preferred these to the more peculiar Japanese delicacies). After that they would continue to an airport a few miles out of New York City, where they would transfer to L's limousine and drive to one of his penthouses, where he was planning on staying until further notice.

"Ryuuzaki, you could always take on a job from the United States government," Watari offered casually. He was flipping through a newspaper that they had picked up in Tokyo before they left, though truthfully that paper had no news to offer that the pair already wasn't fully aware of. "They have been sending in requests for Erald Coil for months, and in addition to the money they will grant you access to their high-security databases."

"I don't need them to grant me access," L answered a little sourly, his eyes staring blankly ahead. They flickered momentarily toward Light, who was asleep - or more accurately, pretending to be. He looked away again, transferring his attention to the platter of peanut butter cookies on the coffee table. "They've already given 'L' that access, even if I was unable to hack them, which isn't the case. Besides, they only want me to help them out with their crumbling foreign affairs and work in the middle east."

"That's one of the most pressing issues in the world, no matter whose side you take," Watari reminded him. "It's guaranteed to be exciting, anyway. There are entire wars to keep your attention."

He took one of the cookies, biting into it nonchalantly. "Not interested. I want a case where I can fight for justice, not try and untangle a mess of politics."

The slow, steady breathing that Light had been discharging suddenly fumbled, and the detective studied him questioningly. He couldn't see his face, that was still turned away, but there had been a definite shudder of some sort. What was there to make of _that_? L had dared to utter the word 'justice', and surely Light was still bitter about Kira's demolition. That is, if it had even hit him yet that he definitely lost, and knowing Light Yagami as well as he did, that was unlikely.

Watari had been talking, and L turned his attention back to him: "-though it's up to you, unless you would rather take a vacation from any detective work."

"Why would I do that?"

"You wouldn't. What I am saying is that there are jobs you should consider taking on in the meantime while I find you a more interesting case. I'll get in contact with people when we arrive and see what I can pull up." With that, Watari's attention was back at the newspaper.

Knowing that he had just been cut off due to his stubborn selectiveness, he glowered, hugging his arms around his upright knees and lowering his chin. There was one thing that L really did not like about flying, and that was that there was nothing to _do_ that interested him. He couldn't access the internet because the wireless frequencies would mess up the plane's radios, and he couldn't call anyone on his cell phone for the same reason. Not that he needed to do either, because he didn't have a case. Though his was exceedingly picky on what cases that he chose, he hated even more not having one. For lack of better description, he could only call the feeling boredom.

He glanced again at Light, and a small part of him wished that the Kira in him really had died, so then they wouldn't have to restrain him like that. Or at least that he was truly trying to redeem himself for his sins so that he wouldn't lay there so stubbornly, as though the blindfold was an injustice. If only they weren't playing as completely opposite colors on the same chess board. Because then, L could go over there and sit next to them, and they could have an interesting conversation. Conversations with Light Yagami always promised a level of fascination, a promise that was made good many a time when they had worked together before to capture Higuchi. Even when Light had his memories before, L was pleasantly intellectually stimulated during various discussions.

As it was, the detective in L assured him that attempts at conversation right now would inevitably result in an angry "fuck you" after being denied details as to the situation. The sardonic resentment that _he_ was the one in handcuffs wasn't likely to have healed yet. His warped sense of justice which lead to the foolish act of killing criminals independently was as alive as he was.

But eventually Kira would wither away. In captivity he would diminish, because Light's ambitions would be released in an outlet less flawed and evil. Then there would be only Light Yagami left. His hands would still be blood-stained and he would never be granted freedom, but at least he would finally see the truth.

And then they could work together, side by side. Just like back then, when L thought maybe, though it was entirely irrelevant and possibly detrimental, he might be happy.

_"The true idealist pursues what his heart says is right in a way that his head says will work." - Richard Milhouse Nixon_

Light wanted to kill him.

He exhaled heavy breaths as silently as he could, trying not to clench his fists which were behind his back, there for his captors to see. The weariness from before had vanquished, and he fiercely wished that if he pulled hard enough, the handcuffs would snap apart. Then he could pull off the blindfold, stand up and strangle that bastard and the old man, too.

It was disgusting and terrible how carefree both of them were about it all. Rejecting cases because they weren't interesting. Not wanting to work in a war-zone because he didn't want to get mixed up in politics. Light wanted to retch and scream and kill. All of that, every single thing, it was all about innocent people getting screwed over by the evil wretches of the world. Whether it was a serial killer, a rapist, or a war terrorist, it was all the same. How could L be so particular amidst all of this injustice?

When Light had the Death Note, he was not particular. He took on _all_ of the cases and gave them a quick conclusion. He didn't draw it out, he _did it_ and it _worked_. With Kira incarcerated, where would wars and crime go except up, and up again?

This was not justice. How the _hell _could L claim to be such a thing? Perhaps his way was the more socially acceptable one, but the public just didn't know. They didn't know about L's underhanded methods, his hypocrisies. About how he employed criminals, such as Aiber and Wedy and now himself, that he deemed more useful to him out of jail. About how he broke laws, he trampled human rights, he kidnapped and tortured. Light admitted that he too engaged in less honorable methods such as manipulation during his reign, but his ends definitely justified his means. But L on the other hand, all L cared about was picking and choosing justice - only taking on cases that might alleviate his damned boredom.

L didn't want to save the world. He just wanted to punish a few select criminals.

And more importantly than that, even if it was publicly acceptable, solving a few cases a month just didn't change a thing. To stop crime entirely, one just had to work on a more grand scale. Justice had to be a God, not an annoying guard dog that barked occasionally. When punishment is instant and applicable to everyone, completely unbiased, with no money or fame to corrupt, only then will people start to see the truth. What better divine method was there than Kira and the Death Note?

Eventually, he managed to calm down, and the weariness took over again. He pressed his cheek against the couch, holding back a sigh. Getting angry right now wasn't going to do much. Even if he engaged L in a battle of rhetoric, L would never admit that he was the one who was wrong for electing to imprison the only one who could protect humanity. Even more than that, L would never let him go.

No, somehow he had to find a way out of this himself. It seemed like his luck had run out, so he would have to rely on his own intellect. And he didn't lie to himself - he knew to expect that it would take awhile. Patience would be necessary, and he couldn't let his raw emotions get the better of him. Even cuffed and blindfolded and going somewhere completely unknown without a friend or ally, he still had to maintain a level of control.

"Ah.." he exhaled in whispered moan under his breath. His fingers, which had been broken by L however long ago that day had been, were beginning to sting again. At least they had been properly bandaged since he agreed to work with L, so hopefully they would heal properly. _Unusually kind of that bastard_, he thought with bitter sarcasm. _He probably decided to let them recover so that I can use a computer for menial research... or whatever the hell he has planned for me_.

Light's thoughts were cut into when voice from above on an intercom said, "_Attention, please. We will be landing in about five minutes, so if you could please fasten your seat belts_..."

Aha. So it really was a plane.

"Sit up please, Light-kun," L's voice droned. It came from very near him, so the detective must have walked over.

Light tightened his jaw as he obeyed, holding back childish retorts. _Why does it matter? It'd be no loss if I died. Who cares if I get tossed around during landing? Why would you care?_ But that would have accomplished very little aside from give L a certain level of satisfaction in knowing that the situation was affecting him. Once he had sat up, a seatbelt slithered across his lap and buckled with a _click_ in the center of the couch.

He listened very intently for the pilot to say more, in particular, what airport they had arrived at, what their location was. Anything, really, even the local time. However, the damned detective must have instructed him to not reveal this information. Well, how long had they been flying? Mentally, he figured that he must have been laying there for two hours at least, but that was when he had been conscious. During his sleep, any period of time could have passed. He didn't even know what direction they were going. East, west? North, south? What he did know was that the pilot has used English. So were they arriving in an English-speaking country? Or… could it be that it had been unconscious for so long that they were _leaving _an English-speaking country?

His stomach lurched as the wheels hit the runway. It was crude and bumpy, and he already felt sick enough just due to the situation. When it finally stopped and they had landed, he searched for the voices of L or Watari to give some kind of explanation.

"We'll be back in a few minutes, Light-kun," was all that L said. "But please do not think that you aren't guarded in our absence."

Light provided a contemptuous smirk in response.

When it sounded like they had left, he completely disregarded L's statement. He was reluctant to believe that anyone else was in this room, because how would the detective explain such a thing? If they were at a public airport, questions would be asked concerning a bound eighteen-year-old boy, and Light doubted immensely that L had any aliases that worked for the police to justify that. So he shamelessly twisted his body to the side, awkwardly trying to get his hands on the buckle of the seat belt. His fingertips brushed against the metal from behind him, but he had trouble wrapping them around the device to apply enough pressure to press the button for release.

Not that he really knew what he was going to do, even if he did free himself from the confines of the seatbelt. If he shook his head with enough force against the couch of the floor, perhaps he could slide off the blindfold. And then what? If there was some kind of large coat somewhere nearby, he could slip it over his back so that no one would be able to see the cuffs. And then... run through the airport? Try to contact someone? Who? Misa, and tell her to kill some president or prime minister if L didn't release Light?

No, L wouldn't give up Light even then. And besides, he had mentioned that Misa was also incarcerated. She was undoubtedly being interrogated by Interpol by now. The Death Notes too were probably locked away, or burned to ashes.

_Damn it..._ He really couldn't think of anything to do, even if he got off of the plane. Not with his hands cuffed, and he had no idea how one went about getting them off. Furthermore, if L caught him while he tried to escape - which realistically was the ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance - he might go through with his other threat, to have him locked up somewhere secluded for the rest of his life. If that happened, as opposed to working with him on his detective cases, then opportunity to steal freedom was pretty scarce. The rational thing to do would be to bite his lip and stay put.

"That's the right choice, Light-kun," L said after a door had slid open to signal his return. It was as if he had been reading Light's thoughts, and that made him suppress a growl. Obliviously, the detective continued, "Watari was right outside of this door the whole time, so you wouldn't have gotten very far."

"I told you that I want to work with you to capture criminals," Light retorted with vexation that was masked by his blindfold. "That is important to me. Why would I try to escape?"

He could practically feel L's wide owl-like eyes studying him, and he knew what L was thinking: _Because you are childish and hate to lose. It's possible that your immaturity in this matter is heavier than your altruism._ It was uncomfortable, because the detective was quiet and he couldn't see what was going on. After a moment he heard footsteps approach him. "You're probably thirsty, so I brought you something to drink."

That was true, irritatingly so. His throat was dry and his lips were cracked. The first few days in that cell he hadn't been given any sort of nourishment, and after his confrontation with L he had only consumed a small amount. But the stubborn, cynical part of him that was all for taking over in this situation said, "You brought me something. Does that also mean that you're going to allow me to drink it?"

"Yes."

"So you'll take off the cuffs?"

"No," came the swift answer. "I'll hold it for you."

Light answered, "I'm disinclined to drink anything that I can't see or touch for myself." He knew it was stupid, and chances were that L would just shrug and leave, but he wanted to clutch his own obstinacy as the only friend he had, the only means of taking a stand against injustice and keeping his dignity.

But L didn't leave quite yet. "Why is that? Is it pride, Light-kun? Considering the circumstances, you are not proving a point, instead you are just spiting yourself."

"No," Light disagreed, even though it had been the truth. "How should I know if the liquid is drugged?"

"You could ask me," came the baritone answer. "There have been things that I've kept from you in these passed few days, however, I've yet to lie. Regardless, you're correct, it is drugged. This water contains five milligrams of Zolpidem, which is a nonbenzodiazepine hypnotic."

"Heh," the small humorless chuckle left his throat. "That's very considerate of you, _L_, to help me fall asleep. However, I'm not so sure if I'm thirsty."

"If you don't want to drink, I won't make you," L replied carelessly. "What will happen though is that Watari will give you the same drug through an IV. Since you're likely dehydrated, I thought that I'd offer before you're unconscious again, and save you a needle's pricking."

Light tightened his lips, hating L all over again and regretting with vehemence that Rem hadn't acted according to plan. But because it was better than the alternative, he smiled wryly. "You're persuasive."

"Actually, I'm indifferent." L stepped forward again, and then he sat down next to Light. If 'sitting' is what one called his odd crouching position, anyway. "But there's no reason to keep you thirsty since I don't need you to tell me anything. Are you ready?"

"..Yes."

It was uncomfortable and a little bit humiliating as a cool glass lifted to touch his lips. Cautiously he parted them, and L angled the glass to drain the liquid into his mouth. It was just water, or at least, that's all it tasted like. He swallowed, and his dry mouth relished the moisture. L lowered the glass momentarily to allow Light to take a breath, and then raised it one again.

When it was empty of all contents, the detective asked, "Is that enough?"

Light gave a short nod. "So how long do I have?" There was something ominous about waiting for the drug to kick in. It reminded him of his nightmares sitting in an execution chair and receiving a lethal injection. _How long until I'm dead?_

"Just a few minutes at that dosage. It doesn't matter, because the result is inevitably the same, but I'd advise you to relax."

The result is the same. Inevitably. Already feeling drowsy, he murmured, "I'm drowning."

"What's that, Yagami-kun?" L asked.

Light could only sit there in silence, as the water surrounded him. It lashed against him in angry waves, it was ferocious and void of any support. There was only him, alone and out at sea. Poseidon the sea-god himself must have wanted to pull him to the bottom of the ocean, if there even was a bottom, and hold him there until his lungs have expelled all of the oxygen that they desperately clung on to.

Giving in was easy enough, giving in and relaxing and letting go. The end would be less painless that way.

But he was Light Yagami, and his last conscious thought was that he wasn't defeated yet. There had to be a way to stay above the crashing waves, and he would find it.

"_Justice remains the greatest power on earth. To that tremendous power alone will we submit." -Harry S. Truman_

The policemen who were not dead were confused and anxious as hell about their precious Light's mysterious absence. His mother, Sachiko, and sister Sayu were worried sick. The father Soichiro didn't look as though he had slept in days, but he was ignoring that tiredness in favor of determination as he ordered the police to search all of Tokyo for his beloved son. Yes, they were all impacted by his loss, and very much so.

But Ryuk didn't think that any of those humans were quite as irritated as he was.

It was annoying, it really was. Light was his primary source of entertainment, and the gangly Shinigami was actually enjoying the game. That kid had been the most interesting method of killing some boredom, and even when he dropped his second Death Note in the human world for some fun, he hadn't been expecting _this_. Though Ryuk didn't take sides (it was even more amusing that way), Light was definitely his favorite human ever. Hanging out with him was like a party, a guessing game that guaranteed excitement.

So who the hell was he to go disappearing all of the sudden?

It was bad enough that Ryuk's second notebook was destroyed. He had been with Misa Amane after she had dug it up from the hole in the park where Light had deposited it months ago. Then, all of the sudden, out the window he saw two cops coming. And _then_, he saw Rem - another Shinigami a little too glum for his liking - and she wrote their names down in an effort to save the girl. Kind of stupid, really. Not only did Rem disintegrate and transform into lifeless ash, another batch of cops came to arrest Misa. Ryuk wasn't exactly sure if this was Light's plan, because now the police had his second notebook.

And then they burned it.

Now that had just pissed him off. He went through the trouble of tricking the Shinigami king to get his claws on the Death Note that belonged to Shidoh, who was nothing but a lazy oaf. Lazy and rotting like the rest of the Shinigami world, hardly realizing that their life spans were steadily decreasing, not until it was too late. So lazy that it took them a year to even realize that their Death Notes were gone, when they noticed how close they were into becoming dust like Rem. If only Light was a Shinigami, then damn, would his own world be flashy.

Speaking of which... where the fuck?

He was not dead, that much Ryuk knew. Because Light was the first human to receive ownership of a notebook under his own name, they had a connection. Ryuk would just know if he died, just like he would know if his own notebook was destroyed. As it was, though Shidoh's notebook was destroyed, he still had his original one. And on his first meeting with Light Yagami, he had promised him that he would be the one writing his name in the Death Note when his time was up.

But he didn't want to kill the kid unless his time really was up. Had he already been arrested? A shame, if so, but the Japanese police hadn't said anything. They said that Misa was Kira, but no one mentioned anything about Light. So was he out in hiding then? Ryuk was annoyed, and he wanted to know.

Of course, there was definitely one way to find his favorite human: set a trap with an irresistible bait. Sure, Light could shield himself from all sorts of things that other humans seemed to like: money, sex, fame. However, if Ryuk knew Light - and he liked to think that he did - he knew that there was something that he would never be able to keep away from. This was the thing that he would be drawn to like a fly to honey, even though that honey was going to be his downfall.

Ryuk held up his own Death Note, and stared at it under his great, bulging eyes. If anything happened to it, that would be bad... but what else was there to do? Go back to the Shinigami realm and gamble like the others? No, he would rather gamble _here_.

He spread out his wings and took to the air. Now to find a human with enough guts to use it for awhile. At least, long enough to get Light's attention. And maybe after that, things would be back to normal.

If that's what you'd call it.

"_If you are going to do something wrong at least enjoy it." -Leo Calvin Rosten_

_-To Be Continued. . . _

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. Light's "torture me again": refers to not only going without food or water in the prison cell recently, but also his treatment when he first gave up his memories - being imprisoned and immobilized when he believed himself to be innocent, as well as the mock execution that L set up with his father.

2. Light's original Death Note belonged to Shidoh, and Ryuk stole it from the original Shinigami. Ryuk still has his original notebook, though Rem's, Shidoh's, and Jealous's (Misa's first notebook) have been destroyed.

3. 'Nonbenzodiazepine hypnotic' - basically a sedative, used to make people fall asleep (can be prescribed by doctors to cure insomnia, etc). Used by L for Light so that he won't be able to register where they are going.

4. Rating may be raised up to 'M' in the future.

As always, thanks to everyone who read this, and especially to those who review. -Serria


	3. Convicts and Martyrs

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: Death Note isn't mine. Justice is, though.**  
**

**Convicts and Martyrs  
**

* * *

"_And differing judgments serve but to declare _

_That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where."_

_-William Cowper_

"L, I had been preparing myself for anything in regards to the Kira case," Victoria Thatcher, an ex-FBI agent who moved on to become a defense secretory in Interpol said. L had chosen to contact her not only because she was astute, but because she was once a good friend of the innocent Kira victim, Raye Penbar, and thus passionate about her cause. She had correctly been chosen to be one of Kira's interrogators, however, therein lay the problem: "But I did not expect the killer to be an eighty pound pop-idol, who is undistinguished in intelligence and has zero criminal record."

The detective observed the American woman through the video feed on his monitor thoughtfully. She wouldn't share the same luxury of seeing a face on her end, and L's voice would be scrambled through the microphone software. "If you don't think that Misa Amane is Kira, by all means put her back on the streets. However, the results speak for themselves, don't they?"

Thatcher nodded curtly. "I can't argue with you there. The murders have completely stopped since her arrest. The issue I have is my own bias that she does not fit the profile, and furthermore she has incessantly denied all charges. Actually, our psycho-analyst specialists are also concerned because the behavior that Amane is displaying seems... genuine."

_As planned, then. It seems as though she really did relinquish her Kira memories._ "She is an actress, Ms. Thatcher," L reasoned mildly. "Though I had best inform you that during my investigation, I did consider the possibility of sub-conscious murder."

"Sub-conscious?" She scoffed. "That's ridiculous, the murders were way too calculated."

"The case is already ridiculous. Natural laws and physics have already betrayed us once in trying to explain the process of the heart-attack murders." Though he had been vague before about the absolute truth is Misa's guilt to hide Light, here he spoke with sincere distaste. He paused, raising his thumbnail to his mouth and clicking it against his front teeth in irritation. "I do not like my inability to understand supernatural phenomenon, but I'm 95 percent confident that Amane's confinement will conclude the reign of Kira, and as such I'm moving on to other cases."

Thatched frowned, looking as though she wanted to argue this resolution, but eventually sighed. "Alright, L. Now Interpol has to decide if, when, and how we will explain Kira's capture to the public. Thanks to Kira, morale in most governing institutions fell like rain, and everyone could really use this achievement to raise confidence. But we're also reluctant to announce the guilt of a celebrity at risk of sounding like some flaky teen's magazine, no one will believe us..."

"What you do at this point doesn't concern me," L said simply. "I'm fully aware that Interpol wants me to make a public statement, but that spotlight doesn't suit me. I'm moving on. Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Thatcher."

The monitor flickered off, and the irate woman's face dissolved.

L released a sigh, lowering his palms to his knees as he crouched on the floor of his penthouse's living room. He had made this larger area his office, giving Watari the official study room, and as such there were twenty computers scattered around the wood floor. With a natural distaste for chairs and tables, this suited him, as well as the seemingly orderless pattern to the computer equipment on the mahogany floorboards, interrupted in monotony only by several large, exotic potted plants. There were a number of eccentricities he had concerning his 'home' (for lack of better word). Such as his habit of keeping the whole facility dark, lit only by the neon city lights that immersed through the window and the back-lit screens of the computers, or the requirement that every room L frequented must contain a mini-fridge.

And 'every room' wasn't to be taken lightly. L technically owned the entire building under one of his aliases, though he rented out the bottom floors to normal people in an effort of maintaining an inconspicuous appearance. However, the top three floors were claimed for Watari and himself. He preferred to have plenty of space and privacy, and this was also the reason that the penthouse stretched high above its surrounding New York City skyscrapers.

Though the amount of free space was slightly reduced now, L surmised, as company had increased. His eyes traveled over to the screen of Monitor 17, which recorded the video feed of one of the bedrooms in his own penthouse. Through the grainy video camera picture L silently observed Light, who was still unconscious and lay loosely sprawled on the bed. They had only reached their destination a few hours ago, and after Watari had promptly installed the appropriate security, they deposited him to wait until the sleeping drug wore off.

"Lawliet?"

Watari stepped into the room with a platter of chocolate caramel-filled truffles. He navigated through the maze of computer monitors, and upon reaching his partner, set the tray down on the wooden floor. "How did it go, Lawliet?"

L frowned, his eyes flickering toward Watari and then back to the computer screen. His hand crept forward as though it had a mind of its own to the sweet confectioneries, and brought one back to his mouth. "They aren't satisfied, as expected, especially since Misa has again lost all recollections of being a mass-murderer. But I'm not here to solve their political problems. I've apprehended Kira, but it's their job to clean up the aftermath."

"Indeed." The old man hesitated, looking down on L with fogged eyes. L did not return his gaze, but he could feel the eyes resting on the back of his head in contemplation. Finally, Watari spoke his thoughts. "As your guardian, I feel obligated to again express my sincere disapproval of the current situation."

"What situation?" L asked, as if oblivious, though they both knew that he understood full well.

"Light Yagami should not be here." He gazed at the detective without a smile on his wrinkled face. "I understand your conclusions about avoiding the government and keeping them away from the murder notebooks, however, your proposal is extremely risky."

"You would choose to execute him?"

Watari sighed, and gently explained. "I'm not here to make the choices. I'm here to keep you alive. I'm not questioning what punishment best suits a criminal like himself, but I am questioning your motives."

"They're childish." L placidly responded while chewing a truffle. "Now you know, so you don't have to speculate."

"At least make him give up his memories, like Misa did."

Now it was L who hesitated. He knit his brows and frowned, making out the steady up and down rising of Light's chest through Monitor 17. When they had locked him in this room, they had removed his blindfold and now it seemed to L as though the adolescent were scowling with his eyes closed. Previously when the detective had observed Light in his sleep, he noticed that the teen looked much younger, much more innocent, like the eighteen year old boy that he was. However today it was as though even in the sanctity of his dreams, Kira had not forgotten about his defeat, and he grimaced through closed lids in defiance against the drug.

That defiance, L admitted to himself, was what made Light who he was.

"I have no intention of forcing the Kira out of him," L finally said out loud because he knew that Watari would persist until he explained. "I want Light to submit to me freely and to admit his sins unprompted. He can't escape from justice here, and he will have to realize that real righteousness isn't merciful and it isn't temporary, and, most of all, applies to him."

"He can't escape from justice here, you say, but what if he escapes from _here_?" Watari pressed on.

"He won't," came the stubborn reply. "And if he tries, he's aware that the consequences aren't imperceptible."

The old man sighed again, rubbing his temples as if his partner had caused the fiercest of headaches. "All right, Lawliet. I'm going to go contact the American military, they've been sending me messages all day in regards to what we know about Kira's murder abilities."

"Don't tell them anything," L commanded, even though Watari was fully aware of their resolutions. He took another truffle, rolling it around in his fingertips as the old man retreated from the room. Just as he was about to turn the corner into the hallway, L suddenly said, "Watari, please continue to call me 'Ryuuzaki', and nothing else."

Watari paused for a second and nodded, and L knew that the minor modification of their regular interactions was displeasing to him. But just a week ago, that was the name that could have sent L to his grave and brought Kira to victory. The Death Notes were destroyed now, but Kira was still breathing, stirring on the bed and beginning to wake from his drug-induced sleep.

"_The martyr cannot be dishonored. Every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame; every prison a more illustrious abode." -Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**Day 1:**

Everything that composed the body of Light Yagami was aching ferociously. There was a horrid, god-awful burning pain in his head, as though some highly acidic chemical was swimming around his brain and eating away at tender tissue. His limbs were sore, his ribs were sore, and when he opened his eyes his first thought was that he must have been struck and beaten, and that was why he had been unconscious in the first place.

When he opened his eyes, the confusion only multiplied. The place he was in almost looked like an upper-class hotel room with its mahogany floorboards and sideboards along cream colored walls, and he was laying on a double-sized bed with thick maroon blankets. However, that muddled explanation didn't fit, because otherwise the room was suspiciously empty. There was one closed door that presumably lead out to the hallway, and one door to a bathroom. A small desk against the wall (void of any items), and a tiny window, that was all, nothing...

And then, Light realized that his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

And _then_, he noticed one other thing in the room that he had previously missed: a video camera, embedded in the corner of the ceiling. It stared down at him with a small red light with an unrelenting harshness.

It was the mechanical embodiment of L.

"Hah..." came out the smallest of breaths.

The memories that had been previously feeble in his drowsy drug-addled head came pouring back. Light sat up with a start, gaping at the video camera as an almost surreal panic submerged within him. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists despite his logical mind assuring him that such an action as useless. Unpleasant memories of the agonizing tension that had built up when he had been restrained like this the last time for fifty-three days straight filled him, and suddenly, he was furious.

_You think this is funny, don't you, you bastard? You're trying to make Kira your trophy._

Light slid off of the bed, his head aching even more with blood rushing to his head as he stood up. He strode to the door at a fast pace, where he lifted a foot into the air to twist the handle. It was locked, as expected, and if he knew L then there was more to this barrier than a switch of metal. He kicked at it with the palm of his bare foot, not entirely out of frustration but to also investigate its quality. It hardly vibrated, proof that it was extremely thick and of a high density.

_Oh God, how I wish Rem had killed you._

He held back a scowl as he stood there in silence for a moment. This message was clear enough. L had every intention of discouraging Light from even thinking about trying to escape. He supposed that he couldn't have expected anything less, though L wasn't going to expect anything less from him than an effort at just that. As he should. Light had every intention of making it out of this place, and if he ever denied it to his enemy, they would both know it was a lie. If he could manage to keep his patience and maintain a level-head, opportunity would arise. L was meticulous and he would be a thorough captor, but like anyone else he was a human capable of making mistakes and that was what Light would wait for.

_Gotta stay calm..._

"L?" he asked out loud warily, looking straight at the camera and attempting to keep his expression cool. "Are you there?"

The reply was not instant, and for a moment Light figured that the room had not been equipped with an intercom system in addition to the cameras. But after a minute, there was a quiet clicking noise, and the voice was heard through a loudspeaker. "_Rest assured that I've not left you unattended, if that's what you're thinking_."

"What's going on?" Light cut straight to the point, he was in no mood to engage in agitating smalltalk with his gloating enemy. "What's Interpol doing, and the NPA? You never told me my exact situation."

"_No. I didn't_."

The adolescent waited for L to expand on this particular topic. No further words were offered, and Light shifted his weight to calm his furious energy. He took a breath and spoke steadily . "I told you that I was completely willing to work with you on your cases, because I also want to punish criminals. So what happens now?"

This time, the answer was swift: "_But you are also a criminal, guilty of nothing less than mass murder. You're a vigilante terrorist and a serial killer, do you deny that?_"

Light glared, and he knew that L was throwing bait at him. But his pride wouldn't allow that statement to go unrequited. "I was never a terrorist. Kira is the opposite of that. Some people died, but it had to be done if the world was ever going to change!"

L must have been studying him intently, because even through the camera lens, the adolescent could feel his probing onyx eyes. The delay in spoken response was almost more angering than any previous accusation. Then, the detective said, "_August 19, 1995: Oklahoma City bombing by Timothy McVeigh. He also draws attention to his righteous cause, and he takes 168 human lives_."

His temper was beginning to flare into something unruly. "That's not the same kind of cause!"

"_December 21, 1988. Pan Am Flight 103 bombing over Scotland, 270 killed_."

Light tightened his lips as he scowled. L was trying to get a rise out of him, trying to lure out Kira for his own satisfactions.

"_August 7, 1998. U.S. embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania, 224 killed. And on June 23, 1985, Air India Flight 182 bombing over the Atlantic Ocean - 329 killed_."

With a try at a collected tone of voice, Light seethed, "Those are the kind of terrorist acts that Kira is-- _was_ trying to prevent. Ever since Kira, such acts of terrorism experienced a significant decrease, you can check your statistics about that."

The voice, slightly muffled through its microphone, continued as though it had not heard a rebuttal. "_From sometime in June, 2003 to November 10, 2004, the Kira Massacre. 6,795 confirmed deaths traced directly to him, an indirect additional at least 4,000 from the Second and Third Kiras who acted upon Light Yagami's orders. Countless more deaths unconfirmed_."

Light snarled against this shallow line of thinking, pulling violently at his arms and ignoring the stinging throb in his wrists that followed as the cuffs pinched at his skin. "That's not the same at all!"

"_I think it is, Light-kun_," came the brisk reply. "_You asked what happens now, and the answer is for you, nothing yet, not until I'm ready for you. Why don't you reflect a little on the things that you've done? I don't think you've ever thought about it before_."

And then there was another _clicking_ noise, and the hum of the intercom was silence. The conversation was over. Light was left fuming and immobilized, sure of his convictions to strangle the detective as soon as the opportune moment arose.

"_Cynics regarded everybody as equally corrupt ... Idealists regarded everybody as equally corrupt, except themselves." -Robert Anton Wilson_

**Day 5:**

For the next several days, L felt like a secretary. He usually referred calls from intelligence agencies to Watari, as he thoroughly believed that entangling alliances with any association should be avoided in order to maintain a bias-free outlook in his profession. However, the world of governing powers had gone nothing less than chaotic since Kira's imprisonment, which was ironic - who would have thought that the terrorist threat to democratic values would have caused even more of a ruckus _after_ it had been silenced?

The Japanese Ministry of Justice had been one judicial organization that was quite displeased upon finding out that Kira really was from Japan. There had not been any public announcement yet concerning Kira's capture (Interpol Japan had been particularly insistent on not making any rash decisions concerning this issue). L was certain that such information would be kept strictly confidential for awhile yet, as no one knew how best to approach the public. Would it be better to keep it entirely secret and let people assume that Kira had died out? Or make the government look better and more capable by broadcasting such a thing? But what to do when they had to announce Misa Amane's name? There were already a number of Kira supporters, and finding out that the sugary pop idol was the terrorist would undoubtedly conjure up more sympathies, which was the last thing that any agency wanted.

Now that L was here in the United States, he also had to be certain to keep his own position secure. If the United States Department of Justice found out that he was hiding the _real_ Kira, well, talking his way out of that one would be difficult and annoying. The U.S. National Security Division was already incessantly bothering him with revealing more information about his Kira observations. They didn't buy the 'supernatural and subconscious' excuse that L had offered in Misa's defense, and were certain that Kira used some kind of Weapon of Mass Destruction during his/her reign, and they definitely wanted a piece of the cake.

Weapon of Mass Destruction. What a charming way to put it.

L had burned all three murder notebooks, but not before scanning and recording every page of every book that had any kind of text on it. The notebook that L associated with Light had rules written in English, and he took special observation of those. It was unknown how many of the rules were accurate, but also irrelevant at this point. L wasn't sure if it were dangerous keeping such data on computer disk, were it to fall in the wrong hands...

"What about the possibility of more than one Kira, L?" Deputy Attorney General Thomas Maddison spoke through Monitor 12, clad in military garb and a grim expression. "We have on tape the files from Japan when a second Kira asked to meet a first Kira and received a response, via tapes from the television station Sakura TV."

The detective resisted an annoyed sigh. "The first Kira was my investigation unit in the NPA. I've considered the possibility that there might be two Kiras, as the second spoke outright on television of this. However, Misa Amane was secretly detained, and the murders stopped. There are a number of explanations that we don't understand, pick your favorite, Mr. Maddison. Meanwhile, no one is dying anymore, so my obligations to this case had diminished."

"And what if they start dying again?" the man demanded.

"Then I'll start working again," L answered coolly. "I'm not going to hunt down weapons of mass destruction for the United States, or Japan, or the UK, or anyone else."

Maddison's expression darkened as though L had uttered a blasphemy. "I know that L doesn't claim citizenship to any country, but those are bold words. The United States doesn't want such a power to fall into the wrong hands again, and if such a thing exists it seems like _you_ are the one who might be hiding them."

L narrowed his eyes. "It was the Japanese NPA who took Amane into custody, if you want to ask Japan for permission to interrogate them then be my guest. I'm using my own judgment when I refrain from releasing details, and judging by the international conflict that has already arose from this issue I believe I've made a wise decision. I hope that all of Interpol's foreign divisions can be civil and work together, but I'm not paid to mediate. Good day, Attorney General."

"Wait, L-"

The detective flicked the signal off and cut communications. He wasn't prone to getting headaches, but all of this wild interaction was maddening. L ran a hand through his raven locks of hair, which were particularly untidy today, and frowned when he caught on a snag. He should probably comb it sometime this week.

His attention turned toward the strawberry-frosted vanilla cake that sat off to his side and plunged a fork into it, capturing a chunk of moist pastry and shoving it into his mouth. After swallowing, his eyes darted toward Monitor 17, where he could see that Light was sitting on the floor with his knees up, resting his back against the wall. His gaze was upward toward the ceiling, though it didn't seem to be focused on anything.

_This whole mess is entirely your fault, Light-kun. I hope you're content that you've forced me to play janitor to every international tie that you broke._

"Ryuuzaki?" Watari called from down the hallway, which was where his study was. "Soichiro Yagami has sent me at least fifteen e-mails."

"About Light?" L inquired, though he knew the obvious answer.

"He wants to... hire you to find him. Mr. Aizawa has also contacted me and says that the poor man is near having a breakdown with anxiety."

_Every international _and_ social tie, Light-kun._

L glowered and set down his fork, his appetite quickly dissipating. He glared at Light again, who seemed to be quietly lost in some fantasy (or malicious calculation, more like), and felt tempted to just publicly announce his guilt to the world and the existence of Death Notes. Then everyone would stop whining. Interpol would have its true culprit and its knowledge of WMDs, Soichiro could know the truth about his mass-murdering son's whereabouts and the public would realize that they had been placing their faith in some egotistical adolescent boy.

An idealistic teenager whose god complex gave him the right to guiltlessly take human life. The problem and the answer; the easier way out.

"But I'm not going to let you go, Light-kun," L said with soft obstinance as he stood up and gave one last look at the monitors before retreating into the hallway. More than a year of his life had been dedicated to capturing Kira, and he didn't want to give him up now.

"_Evil often triumphs, but never conquers." -Joseph Roux_

**Day 12:**

Light did not like these circumstances. He did not like being at the mercy of his worst enemy, he did not like being shut in a room and he did not like that it was empty and void of life except for himself. The only person he saw was Watari, who entered the room once a day with both a tray of food and a loaded handgun (the old man had threatened to kill him once if he acted suspiciously, and since that day they had not spoken). Leading to another annoyance - no one had offered to take off the handcuffs, so he awkwardly ate without his hands, trying not to get long strands of hair in the food. It was humiliating, but he had to remind himself that he had bigger problems to deal with. He had been half tempted to grab on to some pride and not eat at all, but he definitely needed the sustenance to think at full power. He would have to bear the shame for now, if it meant escaping later.

'Escape' was a notion that he clung to fiercely. His imprisonment was a problem like any other, and every problem had an answer. In his mind, he graphed off a loose course of action. First, he would have to determine just where on Earth he was - a piece of information that L had made sure to keep from him. This was the most vital because it would affect his list of secondary possibilities. Either way, a corresponding step would be much more specific: the layout of the building that they were in. If he had to get creative with his break-out, then he had to know what staircase to take or even vent to crawl through, just like in the movies.

There was also the irritating factor of his hands being bound, and that would somehow have to be dealt with when the time came. The steel pulled mercilessly at his arms and over the days had tensed up his shoulders to something beyond mere discomfort, but he tried to ignore the pain in favor of the practical inconveniences they caused. His fingers were also still broken, but at least they had been taped and were healing.

Light sighed loudly, if only to hear the sound of his breath break the monotonous silence that this room offered. Pressing his back against the wall for balance, he stood up on his feet. He walked over to the window, which was the best clue and source of entertainment that it seemed like he was going to get. And it _was_ a clue. He was on some extremely high floor of a building, so high that it dwarfed even the surrounding skyscrapers. That lead to a few observations and questions. This must have been a home to L, living normally in society. L was wealthy enough to build an entire sixty-story headquarters in Tokyo just for the Kira case, so it was possible that he owned this whole building, too. But it wasn't built for military purposes like the one in Tokyo. Light deduced this because he was sure that L would have put him in some prison cell if that was the case.

The most important piece of data though was that when Light strained his eyes downward through the small window, he could see the streets far below:

_The cars drove on the right side of the street. Not the left._

Not only did this confirm that they weren't in anywhere in Japan, that also cut out India, Great Britain and Australia. The last two countries were more noteworthy because Light still had a hypothesis that they were in an English speaking country, though he had been drugged during the journey and had little hard evidence to base this on. But Watari and L spoke English naturally, possibly as first languages, so wouldn't it make sense that they lived in such a country?

Somehow, though, he would uncover more information. He wouldn't give up. If L thought that he was going to break him, he had another thing coming. After all, with or without the Death Note, he was still Kira. Kira was a God, an abstract concept that he could cling onto without doubt. The entity existed, it was his most cherished traits and willpower.

And whatever game this was, he would endure. Light Yagami was a mastermind and in all of his life, he had never grown accustomed to losing. All he had to do was watch, pay attention, and keep his patience - and his sanity.

"_Meanwhile, Time is flying — flying, never to return." -Publius Vergilius Maro Virgil_

**Day 36:**

The days were passing. Somehow, the days were passing. The scientist Albert Einstein once hypothesized that time was relative - and certainly this seemed to be apparent between the two antagonists. L's days were spent communicating with literally over a hundred individuals or agencies, half of which being unhappy with him in some way. For the detective, a day might pass and he would curse the moment that his eyelids began to droop, curse sleeping because it was a waste of valuable time. Light Yagami, on the other hand, was completely isolated with only the company of his own increasingly frantic thoughts.

Light didn't have a certain calender date in his head - that had been messed up when he had been imprisoned in a dark cell for an unknown variable of time. All he knew was that this marked the thirty-sixth day of waking up in this room. Outside of his small window, white snow was beginning to fall. Not only did that assure him that it was the month of December, but that was another valuable hint: somewhere in the Northern hemisphere, somewhere probably not near an ocean... and he crossed out more locations off of his mental geographical map. This small consolation was embraced fiercely, lest Light dwell too deeply on his mistakes in the past. Not the mistake of being Kira - _never _that - but the stupid god damned mistake of being caught by L.

L was meticulously aware of the date, the hour, the minute and the second at any given moment, and in any country considering time zones. His geographical map was much more elaborately pegged than his younger adversary's. It marked the positions of a thousand chess pieces, from the President of Interpol to military generals to eighty-four political leaders to Soichiro Yagami, and even Aiber and Wedy - the only other people to know that Light Yagami was Kira, and in L's custody (and even that felt dangerous). Everything was so delicately placed, and L intended to slowly back out of the spotlight as to not cause the pathetic balance to crumble.

Yet every so often in this uneven divider, their eyes would meet. Light's amber irises, sometimes dazed as if in disbelief to his situation and sometimes violent toward the same thing, would flicker up at the camera in his room. L would be passing by the computer monitors and stop to linger at Monitor 17, catching the gaze. Their expressions would seem to lock for a moment, as if completely aware of an attention from the other that they could not prove.

Neither spoke.

They didn't need words.

_You are a homicidal maniac._

**A God who stands up for the weak.**

_You are ignorant of the real world around you._

**You are blind to what's been accomplished.**

_No matter how oppositional you are-_

**No matter how forcefully you disagree-**

_**It's still me who is Justice.**_

"_It is well, when one is judging a friend, to remember that he is judging you with the same God-like and superior impartiality." -Enock Arnold Bennett_

**Day 50:**

It was night and Light had been asleep when the unexpected happened: _something_. He was leaning against the wall with his legs against his chest and his face resting against his knees, an almost subconsciously defensive position. The electronic beep at the door had not woken him, but the footsteps coming toward him had. When his eyelids parted, he blinked to ensure that the image wasn't his mind's fabrication.

Watari was standing right in front of him. His handgun was aimed right at Light's skull, and a withered old finger nestled into the trigger. The expression on the elderly man's face was unconcealed disapproval, as though he were looking down on some infected pest. There had been a time when Watari had treated the adolescent like a distant grandson, but now Light's eyes widened with shock and he froze, wondering dumbly if Watari actually intended to shoot him. The old man only cleared his throat and said, "Stand up. I'm taking you to see L."

He stared in confusion for a second, feeling to weak to move. The barrel of the dreaded weapon didn't leave his direction, so he gulped and quickly scrambled to his feet. Watari nodded toward the door, indicating that Light was to walk in front of him.

_Don't be paranoid, this is a good thing_, he told himself to relax the uneasy apprehension he felt. He finally had the opportunity to take in a larger portion of his surroundings.

The hallways were dark, lit dimly by orange-gold bulbs that passively danced across the mahogany wood and cream walls. It was a long hallway, Light realized, with a number of doors and passageways on either side. So L was wealthy, big damned deal, it was almost as though he were flaunting it. The lavish surroundings only served to add fuel to Light's resentment of the detective.

They turned through a passageway into a room where the entire furthermost wall was a window. The city, whatever city it was, was lit up with night life, and those lights splashed through the glass and onto the walls. A multitude of computers were scattered across the floor.

In the center of the mess was God's opposition himself, crouched on the floor. L's dark eyes glittered underneath equally dark hair. His hands were rested calmly on his knees and he glanced in Light's direction with a casual indifference. Next to him was a wooden board game, nineteen lines long and nineteen lines wide, and two piles of black and white stones.

"Been awhile, Kira," the droning voice greeted placidly.

"Yeah, too long, _L_."

L looked completely impervious by Light's hardly concealed sneer. The detective's charcoal eyes scoped his body, looking up and down in careful scrutiny. Giving away no secrets, he asked, "Want to play Go?"

Light tightened his lips, remembering the Japanese variant of chess that they often used to play when he had discarded his memories and they were taking breaks from the Kira case. At the time they had been somewhat equally matched, but also at that time, Light hadn't been at his full potential. With his memories and experiences now, he was confident that he could overtake the detective.

But now, as Kira against L, it was like their tennis matches. It was only a pretext to get what they wanted. In Light's case: "I can only play you if you uncuff my arms."

The detective gave him a mildly bemused look. "Will you be able to play if I have them cuffed in front of you, instead?"

The adolescent scowled. "What exactly do you think I'm going to try?"

"Killing me," was the brisk answer. "Like you tried before."

_Can't argue there._ He shrugged, and Watari stepped behind him. Light held back a grimace as he felt the gun jab into his back threateningly as the old man unlocked one of the cuffs.

The grimace could not be held back, however, as Light's newly freed arms fell to his side. Everything that had gone numb and beyond pain in his back before had been released in an agonizing reminder when mercy had been achieved. Blood rushed through his wrists, torment submerged his shoulder blades and his lips parted with the intention of releasing an involuntary cry of anguish.

But L was still watching him with his dark-as-nothingness irises, completely unreadable but Light knew what he was thinking.

So he bit his lip and smirked right into the bastard's face as Watari cuffed his wrists back together in front of him. Maniacal, maybe, and oh God, how it hurt to bend his elbows. But he was Kira, and he wasn't going to allow his nemesis to observe his human weakness.

He sat down at the other end of the Go board, right on the floor opposite from L. He did not advert his eyes.

"What color do you prefer?"

L's question was not polite, Light knew, it was in its own way a taunt to the obvious. They had played Go many times, they had played chess, they had played reversi, cards and checkers and xiangqi and chaturanga.

Light was always white. L was always black.

A hand still shaking from elongated restraint crept forward to the pile of pale pebbles. There was another mockery: the pile was on Light's right side, the side that corresponded with his broken fingers. _If you stay on that color,_ the detective was saying, _you will be hurt._ Didn't matter. It didn't matter what indirect threats L threw at him, it didn't matter that Light couldn't feel his hands and only the stinging pain in his arms. They each pinched a pebble between their fingers, and with no further ado, the game of Go began.

"How did the self-reflecting go?" L asked as he laid down a piece. He was the type of player to hardly ever actually look at the board. He knew where the pieces were, it was ingrained to his memory after every turn he took. Instead he would watch his opponent, staring, as though he could extract more answers from facial expressions.

Light hesitated, forcing his initial agitation to calm. The detective was testing his reactions again, keeping his distance in case his prisoner were to snap with rage and simultaneously daring him to. He had already concluded that blowing up, as satisfying it would at first be for his pride, would not be beneficial, so with minimal aggression and maximum seriousness, he answered, "It went well. I'm one hundred percent reformed, and ready to be introduced back into normal society under minimal surveillance."

L's lips curved ever-so-slightly into a smile. So slight it might be missed by someone who didn't know him as well as Light did.

That was good. Facetious enough to make his actual position clear, and calm enough to let L know that he wasn't going to act rashly.

"That's nice to hear," the detective responded, tilting his head as he played a black pebble that began to close in around Light's white pair. "For my efforts at rehabilitation, Light-kun might be gracious enough to offer me a confession."

He couldn't allow L to distract him or frustrate him, he reminded himself as he played an offensive white Cut between a string of black. "A confession to being Kira?" Light inquired breezily.

"No. A confession to being wrong."

L set a final black stone around the white pair. Captured. The two ashen pieces were removed from the board.

Light tightened his lips, his eyes narrowing on their own accord. L watched him with an amused expression, as though he had just cracked a joke at a cocktail party. The adolescent wanted his nemesis to just _dare_ engage him in a battle of ethical rhetoric, but, like throwing a tantrum, that wouldn't accomplish much. He sighed out loud. "I imagine that Interpol doesn't think you're too righteous if you're hiding Kira from them. Did you give them Misa? What's their current position?"

"Your confinement should serve as a warning of what I'm willing to do concerning your punishment," L stated monotonously, ignoring the questions. "Please remember that I place a high value on keeping the world safe from Kira, and because of that I am very serious in dealing with you. You are constantly being monitored for suspicious behavior, as I'm certain you guessed."

The black group stood consecutively next to two white groups, liberties on both sides.

"How much does the UN know? And the NPA?" Light pressed on, laying down a white piece that connected his two groups. He looked up briefly from the board to meet L's eyes. "My father, what did you tell him? Can I talk to him? If I'm arrested, I should at least get one phone call."

Light didn't actually expect the detective to affirm this request, he just wanted to test the reaction. As previously concluded, L gave him a blank look that held no emotion - the answer was in his black piece disconnecting a would-be string of white. "I'm surprised that you're bothering to ask such forward things."

"What I'm asking, _L_-" Every time he said that name, he sneered. "-is my situation, which you have only vaguely informed me of."

The raven-haired man looked mildly curious, or possibly annoyed. After a moment, he yielded. "Light Yagami is Kira, it is confirmed. Your situation is this: Interpol knows everything. Currently you have disappeared off the radar, however, were you to show up on the streets again, every police station associated with Interpol has your picture and stats and knows to instantly arrest you. You might show benevolence to me for giving you this chance at redemption, though I would advise not even bothering to try to leave this building - if you escape this, things will only be worse for you."

Light felt as though he had been stabbed in the spine by a dagger of ice as his anxiety was confirmed well-founded. He swallowed, trying to keep his own face blank. "And my father?"

"What would you say to him?" L inquired, deadpan. "When he knows that the mass murderer he has been risking his life to capture is none other than his own deceitful son?"

Caught without an answer, Light flushed. What _would_ he say to his father if he had the chance? He had always imagined one day telling him the truth - the day at the dawning of the new world, when everyone could see that Kira's judgments were the necessary sacrifice. But if he couldn't escape L, that day wasn't coming anymore. The history books would call Kira nothing but a murderer - Light Yagami, and his name would be a dishonor and taboo among those who used to care about him.

It was aggravating that L had gotten to him. Even more aggravating because of its miserable accuracy.

"Concerning your situation, that's all you need to know. I hope that you don't bother trying to outwit this security, because that will decrease the quality of your circumstances. Significantly." Threats over, the menacing look on L's face disappeared. "I don't want that, Light-kun. I'd like us to be able to work together."

"Me, too," Light answered through gritted teeth. "So what happens now?"

"You must have imagined what it is like to be a private investigator," L began, inserting a thumbnail into his mouth, which he quietly sucked on. "I have many identities, some of which I share with people affiliated with me. However, the three most successful detectives - L, Danuve, and Erald Coil - all belong exclusively to me. They are in high demand, and each of them receives numerous requests daily from various people or organizations. They will either come through my e-mail accounts, or Watari will deliver them personally."

_And you pick whichever cases look like the most fun._

Light glanced behind at Watari, who was still passively standing next to him with the gun. "Does Watari-san act as a proxy to all three?"

Captured. A group of four black pieces was removed from the Go board.

That put Light in the lead.

"Under different aliases," Watari responded. "I'm generally contacted through e-mail or telephone, and on unusual occasions I make personal appearances."

"You will read through the files that I give you, take notes and make hypotheses. I will let you know details and stats of cases and employers, as well as what detective we are acting as. If you want research, request it through Watari or myself because I'm not going to allow you to use a computer."

He could only have expected as much, and he was well aware that arguing wasn't going to change things. "Fine."

L watched him with dark eyes unblinking. His hands rested on his knees, not touching the game board or the pebbles.

"As it is, I have a murder case file for you to look through. I understand that forensics is only mildly familiar to you, though you have some background with helping your father on his police cases. But someone of your intellectual caliber is certain to catch on soon enough." L mildly contemplated the board where his black pieces were outnumbered. He seemed thoroughly unperplexed, as if he had a master plan yet to unfold.

Light didn't answer. He waited for L to make his next move.

"When you're finished, please give me your insight." And then, L stood up. Now that was cocky, during an unfinished Go game. He was on his feet, and as such he was looking down upon his opponent through his charcoal-black eyes. "We will play again another time, but for now I have more pressing matters at hand. Watari, could you escort Light back to his room?"

The adolescent couldn't hold back his glare at the cowardice of the act, running away from a game... but then, with a start, he realized. L might have very well _planned_ the game precisely like this, just to make one point very clear: if Light ever thought that he had a chance at winning... the reality of his imprisonment would be made apparent.

Game boards did not counteract handcuffs.

_You really are a bastard, aren't you?_

The old man grabbed his arm and helped to haul him to his feet, and Light didn't bother pulling away in acrimony. He allowed Watari to lead him toward the hallway.

"Are your arms okay, Light-kun?" L suddenly asked, a thoroughly uncommunicative expression on his face.

Light stopped, and angled his head slightly to look behind at the detective, now standing in the shadows of the room. That inquiry must have been another masked threat, not only to show that even if L wasn't planning on torturing Light, he could still hurt him, and furthermore L was the one in a position of power. The honest response would be that no, his arms hurt like bloody hell, but that was not what he said. He caught L's eyes in a sharp gaze, all while offering the tiniest of roguish smiles:

"I understand why you're worried, Ryuuzaki. You don't want to get sued for cruel punishment, and since we're in the United States, that's illegal."

L's eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise - if Light hadn't known what expression he was looking for, he might have missed it. And then, as quickly as it came it was gone, switched off into deadpanned indifference.

It was too late though, Light chuckled softly under his breath as he was brought back to his room. It had been a toss-up between a few countries, and before, he had not known for sure.

Now he did.

_-To Be Continued. . .  
_

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. This update came so late because I kept changing it... I didn't like a lot of the things I was writing, so I Death Note'd them. But no, I'm not abandoning this as of yet, nor am I abandoning _Desideratum_ or _Pandora's Mischief_. I've just been very critical of plot lines lately, so haven't posted as often as I previously did. Sorry for whatever elongated suspension I may be causing some of you!

2. Light's memory is hazy at the beginning and his body aches - side-effects of Zolpidem, the sleeping drug.

3. Go, xiangqi and chaturanga: old games, originating in the East (China, India, etc) that are essentially strategic games like our chess. 'Reversi' is the original name of the game 'othello'.

4. Go is also known as Weiqi in China, where it came from. It was brought over to Japan and is known as "Igo" or "Go". Like chess, there are two players with either black or white pieces and they take turns trying to capture each other's pawns by surrounding them with their own.

Thanks for reading. :-) Hopefully a chapter 4 will come sooner than 3 did. -Serria


	4. Fire and Ice

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 4 **

Disclaimer: DN isn't mine.

Warning: This chapter contains mild spoilers to _Another Note_.

**Fire and Ice**

* * *

_"Where there is much light, the shadow is deep." -Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe  
_

Once upon a time, there was a raven-haired, rather disheveled man who immediately sacrificed his birth-given name for a short one-letter alias. He grew up in one of the elite orphanages sponsored by the prosperous inventor Quillsh Wammy, as he was extremely gifted and almost frighteningly - no, _definitely frighteningly_ intelligent. This youth was a born psychological masterpiece, and his ceaselessly contemplating brain was chiseled and shaped into something like a diamond, polished and perfected until his skills were quite simply extraordinary. His thin and hunched body carried in it the seeds of unshakable ambitions. This man wanted to be the greatest investigator of all time.

_B_, L recalled with a steady mechanism. They had called that particular orphan B. One of the earlier generation of orphans who trained and competed to inherit the most elite position of all time: to become the detective that practically owned every police force in the world, had Interpol at his beck and call, and was one of the few humans in the world who could do practically anything that he wanted and call it 'legal'.

But B didn't get that position. L did.

It had been years since B's capture, and there was a time when L had considered the matter buried and forgotten about. Yes, there was indeed a time when L had known the man personally – it was hard _not_ to meet him during their years of education together. It was profoundly unsettling that B looked so much like L, even though there was no genetic family relation. It was also exceedingly difficult to ignore a rival who tried to pry into his very brain and extract every habit, every mannerism in an incessant effort to always be _better_, a feral desire to _win._

L had not cared a damn when his mirror image shattered into seven years of bad luck. B was left to disintegrate into grains of sand, no longer any concern of the world's truly greatest detective.

Then Kira came along.

Now he stared into his morning tea, and a ghastly brown apparition stared back at him. When earlier that year Watari had casually informed him of _that_ news, he often could not banish the unwelcome sensation of seeing B's maniacal ruby-red eyes, framing an almost identical face. Emulating through every surface that dared to resonate what was only second best, what had _lost_, what had not even deserved to play the game. Unspeakable talent had been shamefully torn to waste and he lowered himself to becoming nothing more than a detective's obstacle, out of spite exclusively aimed at L.

He thought so lowly of B and subsequently had forgotten. But because of Light Yagami, those thoughts were now practically tangible. The only thing preventing L from feeling it was the glass that protects the righteous from their unhappy reflections.

"Ryuuzaki, the United Kingdom's Ministry of Defence has put in an official request for Erald Coil concerning a subway bombing in London," Watari announced as he poured a third serving of hot English tea into L's white china cup. "Danvue has twenty-seven legitimate requests from smaller organizations across the globe. I'll print them off and get them to you by noon."

L had been absentmindedly gazing at the news on the thirty-six inch television that he kept in the dining area. It was only 7:25 in the morning, and every channel he flipped to was already bombarded full of Kira paranoia. Even the usually-respectable CNN station had a story about spontaneous heart attacks in America that _might_ be Kira related – never mind that the 'victims' were both old and significantly overweight. Winning the excitement of the media (and therefore the public) had been a tactic that Light had heavily relied on during his reign, and now the ball was in motion and it would probably still be months before it began to slow down. L reached over to the cup of tea and took a handful of sugar cubes, letting exactly seven plop into the steaming liquid in an orderly fashion that he did not consciously consider. The embers were still burning hot, even sixty days after the last murder.

"Are you listening?" Watari inquired.

The dark-haired youth hunched over on his chair in the kitchen, sitting before a generous plate of strawberry and cream cheese scones. He plucked one into the air with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the moist pastry sink into his cautious fingertips. "What was the body count?"

"In the subway?" he asked for clarification with a restrained sigh, knowing full well that L didn't like to take cases that didn't involve at least ten corpses or thievery of a million U.S. dollars. "There were four deaths and five injuries."

"No." L held the scone above the sultry English tea, and then proceeded to dunk it in. He confined the pastry in its burning torture for a few seconds, drowning it, until he finally had mercy and lifted the now-dilapidated confectionery. From there he sunk his teeth into it, and continued speaking with his mouth full. "Coil and Danuve are certainly popular recently. L's self-esteem is plummeting."

Watari sniffed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "No one except the highest Interpol officers know for certain that Kira has been caught, so the general consensus is that L is still busy with that case."

"Not that anyone is being discreet about anything," he remarked mournfully. "Interpol is pestering me to the point of where I want to file a lawsuit against them for harassment. But for all that we're in America right now, I don't think there's anyone who would help me sue."

That merited a warm chuckle from Watari. "Indeed, it seems as though we would have better luck finding a lawyer for _Kira_ than for the unfortunate man who made the arrest. Interpol won't be satisfied until they understand everything and acquire the necessary knowledge to avoid this disaster in the future, and you are the only one who can tell them what they want to know."

"But you know, it doesn't matter," the detective shrugged, biting again into his scone. "I've been checking the BBC's list of reported heart attack related deaths every day, as well as suspicious accidents for people with criminal records. There's been no fluctuation and nothing even slightly increased above normal." He paused just long enough to swallow, and then take another liberal mouthful of pastry. "And why would there be? The chances of the Shinigami planting another Death Note on Earth must be slim, because I've never heard of such a thing prior to Kira."

"I've been monitoring those lists, too," Watari admitted. "There's been no consistent pattern in deaths that suggests anything above normalcy or coincidence. Interpol knows that, too. They still haven't publicized Kira's capture, or given you any credit..."

At that point, L had stopped paying attention and instead focused on the reporters that dominated the television screen. Currently there was a news story about another high school shooting in Boston. Some sixteen year old boy and brought his father's rifle to school and ended the lives of three classmates and a teacher, before shooting himself in the head, too. People who had bullied him, made him feel insecure. It was a sad affair.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what Light thought about when he watched such news stories. Certainly he felt some level of compassion and frustration - enough to doom the regular offenders to death with his ballpoint pen. If this student hadn't committed suicide, would Light have killed him just now for this atrocity? Maybe not, L recalled. There weren't any records of Light killing anyone under eighteen years of age. Was it because he sympathized with the horrendous crimes of children? After all, he was no different.

"Have Light's fingers healed yet?" L asked suddenly as the thought crossed his mind.,

Watari's cheer instantly dissipated and he gave L a look of dry disbelief. "With everything that is going on, this is a concern of yours?"

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't a concern of mine."

The gentleman delayed his response, clearing his throat. His bushy eyebrows furrowed together sternly and his voice was rigid. "Your concerns should be in using your resources to continue to solve cases. You have obligations to those who fund you and the orphanage that raised you, _not_ to the young Mr. Yagami. If you want companionship, pick one of the successors to apprentice."

"I have no intentions of retiring so young, so why bother with successors?" L inquired, lowering his face to his coffee mug and tentatively sticking out his tongue to test the warmth of the liquid. "None of them are good enough to succeed me anyhow, from what the Wammy's House reports tell me. Near is too introverted, Mello is too rash."

"_Light_ can't succeed you, either," Watari countered stiffly. He adjusted his spectacles over the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand as he stood up again. "I'm not going to interfere with anything you do unless it poses a direct and unnecessary risk upon your life, but I must confess, this is the event that I foresee occurring."

L stopped briefly before answering. Quillsh Wammy - Watari - was the only human being on Earth whose opinion L gave a damn about, and the old man rarely questioned him. On the occasion that he did, he was also the only human being that L felt the need to explain himself to.

So after a moment, he responded, "Light is not my successor, nor is he my companion. He's a criminal and a perversion of justice, this is something that I am definitely not forgetting. Don't mistake my actions for irrationality. With his employment, 'L' will significantly increase in efficiency and productivity."

"Is that so," Watari commented tartly, though it wasn't a question, nor was it cordial in nature.

"Mr. Wammy, I am the greatest detective in the world," L declared levelly. "It's only been through taking risks that I've become that."

The elderly gentleman contemplated his partner. He then turned away. "I do not feel sympathy for a wretched, undisciplined child who feels no remorse for horrendous acts of evil. However, his family is also a victim."

"You think it would be easier on them if they knew the truth."

"What you might want to consider is that sooner or later the Japanese NPA is going to realize that when Light disappeared without an excuse, Kira stopped killing. When that happens, Interpol will really be after him." Watari straightened his back. "And by God, on that day I'm going to insist that we give him to them - in a body bag."

L felt his own jaw clench. "This is an investment that I've decided to commit to. If you do not feel comfortable, please go back to the UK for the time being and train one of the candidates. I will be sorry to lose your company, Mr. Wammy, but there's no point in reversing this decision now."

Watari didn't hide the startled look in his eyes. But then he exhaled a heaving sigh and nodded curtly. "His fingers are healing," he said, and then he left the room.

But Watari had brought up an important and entirely legitimate issue. Soichiro Yagami was persistent and enduring in his love for his son. Light was currently filed as a missing person in Tokyo, and L had decided to leave it at that. After all, it didn't really matter what the NPA did about it - they could assume that the teenager was dead or runaway, and when they didn't find him after seven years he would be dead _in absentia_ and legally erased. However, Soichiro was the Chief of Police, and as such, an influential man with a loud voice. If the name of his mysteriously absent son was leaked to Interpol, especially if L's name was attached to it... That was a situation that was definitely going to have to be avoided.

_"He who is only just is cruel. Who on earth could live were all judged justly?" -Lord George Gordon Byron  
_

To say that the snow was falling inspired gentle images of soft tufts of flakes floating slowing down toward the Earth, as though they only slightly felt gravity's captivating tug. However, on this frozen morning the snow was undeniably raining down from the clouds, but there was nothing soft nor gentle about it. The wind was howling outside, a heavy and furious gust that was given a definite visual appearance by the icy dust that stained its trepidation. The snow scattered as thick as clouded smoke, creating a blinding wall that barred Light's sight from the building across the street. It was a snowstorm. Light was drawn to the cold pane of glass like a moth to fire.

The fascination that Light felt at nature's fury was purely morbid.

In actuality, it was disconcerting. Japan's snows were mild – never before had he witnessed firsthand weather quite this monstrous. It was _cold_. He was overcome with a stinging chill, yet his feet were planted to the wooden floor beside this blockaded window. For a moment, he was overwhelmed. The ice was surrounding him, smothering him, keeping him a shivering prisoner in this loathsome cell. There was no escape from this rampant blizzard and there was no escape from Ryuuzaki.

"Damn it..." he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the window.

A shudder ran down his spine and he forced his feet to lead a retreat toward the bed. Awkwardly, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, as best he could with his numb wrists tethered together by metal that had assimilated the room's frigid temperature. He held the cloth tightly to his body in an effort to absorb the warmth and halt his teeth from chattering - the involuntary confession that his body acknowledged, a weakness that he didn't particularly want the video cameras to record.

_Pessimism is completely useless_, he thought as he attempted to increase his body heat. As utterly depressed as he was now, he had to cling on to the hope, no, the _plan_ that he was going to break free of this bondage. Siddhārtha Gautama, the Buddha, deprived himself of the world to the point of near-starvation before his Enlightenment. Jesus Christ spent days in hell before he ascended to Heaven. Light had known from the beginning of things that he might also have to suffer and find himself completely alone, but he had always told himself that he was willing to face that for Kira's righteous cause.

He firmly reminded himself that things were progressing now that he was in communication with L, and that was something to be grateful for. Slowly but surely Light would arrange the chess board with the pompous bastard again, and he vowed that the next time, he would be basking in his freedom and dancing on L's grave.

This resolution was the only reason that he bothered to open the manila envelope that L had given him – a neat stack of papers that made up the case file for what was entitled 'The BB Los Angeles Serial Killer Case'. Light skimmed through it briefly. A serial killer, murdering a man, a woman, and a child. Not just murder, but mutilating their corpses and leaving sick clues along the way, complex numbers and codes. The whole homicide was designed like some mentally-ill genius with a taste for morbidity-

The first victim was a man in Hollywood, on July 31, 2002. Strangled to death. The second victim died only two days later: a little girl, skull cracked open with what the forensic investigators assumed was a bat. Nine days after that, a bank worker 28 year old woman bled to death. All the places of murder had several things in common, the most unsettling being perhaps the dolls crafted of straw nailed to the walls. The most relevant was that all of their initials were BB, first and last names.

It was as though the killer wanted to be chased, as though he was specifically mocking justice. 

Not for the first time, Light's fingers began to tremble for want to touch the sleek black binder that enclosed the lethal sheets of paper. A holy weapon, a gift from the gods themselves: The Death Note.

However, this case was ancient history. The murderer, whose initials were also BB was arrested under the direction of L and the help of the FBI agent Naomi Misora. Light might have been annoyed at the blatant mention of woman who he had killed for strategic purposes back in Tokyo, because knowing L it was some sort of taunt. But that seemed so _immature_ that he didn't give a shit.

_Beep, beep!_ The electronic lock on the door buzzed, and Light's gaze snapped up immediately. Watari only came in once a day, early in the morning with a tray of food – and he had already come today. That left his visitor to be none other than L himself, as if magnetically drawn to Light's conscious psychological thirst for the divine instrument that he had once wielded.

"Yagami-kun." L did not shut the door behind him, though he stood in front of it like a guard dog. He tucked his pale hands into the pockets of his faded jeans and studied Light with an eerily blank face, mouth taut and eyelids unmoving. "There is a thing that I need you to do."

Instantly, Light went tense. He eyed the detective skeptically, roaming that empty expression for some answer. When there was not a clue to be found, he inquired with a simple, "What?"

"You are going to record a voice message that we will transfer to your sister's phone. You will state that upon receiving word that your girlfriend was Kira, you became distraught and shamed. You are therefore never returning."

At first, Light could only stare. His lips parted wordlessly as L's proposition sunk in: to publicly forfeit his family by planting a legitimate excuse so that he would be forgotten. Then the hot fury exploded within him and he stood up - he couldn't have hid the fire that sparked in his eyes if he tried. "What?! My family has _nothing_ to do with what's happening between me and you! What, what _right _do you have to ask that of me?"

L did not so much as twitch. The only change was that his look was unmistakably colder, a chilly dominance. "I did not mean to sound as though I was asking."

"No. No." Light was beyond reservation. He shook his head violently. "Telling me to do something like that, that's beyond your jurisdiction. I'm not going to lie to them!"

"That sort of thing didn't bother you before," L annunciated simply. "You don't have to like it, but unless you're under the misinformed impression that your family might rescue you from the consequences of your crime, you should be in agreement with me. Your father knows that you are Kira, but your mother and sister know nothing except that their son and brother has abandoned them. Which is true, due to the repercussions of your actions."

"That's not your concern!" he hissed, his throat constricting.

"Your life is my concern. I don't like to leave loose ends untied if there is a chance that they will be a nuisance later," came the curt reply. "As such, I'm going with this plan so the public will have an excuse for Light Yagami's permanent absence."

"Arrange something by yourself." Light's hands clenched into fists, arms shaking so that they pulled against the steel of the handcuffs. "I don't give a damn what you do, but I'm not cooperating."

There was a pause. L looked at him through eyes that reflected the frozen window - empty, strict, emotionless. Hard and without mercy. "I need to neutralize this issue. Light Yagami can't disappear without a reason. If you won't comply, I'll be forced to send your body back to Tokyo in a coffin. You died from a street mugger with a gun, and what an ironic death for Kira that would be."

Light froze at this threat. "Have you no shame?"

L was unperturbed. "On the contrary, I'd be sorry to do it considering all the work that I've already gone through because of you. However, there is a system and a balance that is more important than both you and me, and my priorities lie with upholding that. I gave you your life after your capture, but it's still mine to use. You know I'm not motivated by any desire you frustrate you."

"You can go to hell."

The detective did not reprimand the harsh words, because he knew that they were an affirmation. Light shoved passed the detective toward the door, his own angry way of agreeing to the shameful terms.

_"I will be as harsh as truth and as uncompromising as justice." -William Garrison  
_

L lead the adolescent to a room that was secluded and empty, aside from the simple recording device. He did not want Light to get distracted, nor let there be a single sound on the tape that Soichiro could decipher - and the man would probably try. When he had the sound file he would also be sure to edit it as to both add and blot out background noises until it was thoroughly unrecognizable. The process would be practically effortless, considering the high-tech equipment that he owned.

Light spoke up calmly, though L knew him well – he could detect that he was still shaking with hardly-concealed rage. "It'll be more valid if you'll let me directly call her cell phone-"

"Please don't even ask," the detective said sternly, running a hand through his thick hair. "You know that the message needs to be recorded and there's no way I can let you speak freely with anyone outside of this building."

"Then go away, so I can do this."

He quirked an eyebrow. "There's no point in that since you'll be recorded on the video cameras anyway. There's not-"

"I don't care! Go away, for once, just go away!" the adolescent suddenly snarled. "Let me do this in peace!"

It was not the display of aggressive behavior that surprised L. Even without his memories of Kira, Light Yagami could be hotheaded when things weren't going how he felt they ought to. What surprised the meticulous detective was that Light had chosen to act this way when L assumed that his family had already been reduced to the status of impudent manipulation. Not that the teenager was void of emotional attachment to his family, but he clearly had long since stopped allowing such detrimental feelings interfere with any plans. And Light would surely be intending to act as compliant as possible in a futile effort to win L's generosity. Unless he knew that L wouldn't buy the docile act, and was trying some other approach?

Of course, Light could be feeling honest frustration that this action would halt any hope he had of his family investigating and tracking him down. In reality, the oblivious Soichiro would be forced to call off his missing person report. Light was eighteen years old and therefore could no longer be classified as a runaway child. He had the legal right to leave his family and maintain confidentiality as to his location, and as soon as it became clarified that he was alive and accounted for, the police would be forced to back away.

Either way, it didn't matter if L was present in the room at the time of the recording anyhow, since he would review the material himself. So he abode by Light's request and quietly shut the door behind him, going straight to the monitors to observe more privately.

The teenager expertly flipped on the red switch of the machine and took the microphone in his hands. However, he was quiet for a few minutes, a concentrated look on his face – as though he were contemplating what lines of dialogue he could possibly say to appease his captor.

"Sayu," Light finally said with his voice strangely flat, not its usual pillar of strength. Phenomenal acting skills. "Hey, Sayu... I have to explain myself."

L observed, leaning forward to peer with scrutiny at the brunet's face through the video camera. A hollow expression, a hushed voice. As though he were trying to hide it away from the cameras, as though even being the cold blooded murderer of thousands of people, he still thought he deserved to keep this part of him off of surveillance. No, nothing like that could be afforded.

Kira composed facades masterfully, weaving together every element of his being. He played his own body like an instrument, and watching him at this moment reminded L of the time last April that Soichiro had experienced a heart attack due to stress. So easily did Light mold his body into a presence of distress and fear when he knew that he had never written his father's name in the Death Note. Like a grand composer had he directed a symphony - sitting by the suffering man's hospital bedside and vowing to capture the 'real' Kira.

Such lies, and that night it had been to the point where L had actually had a doubt about the youth's guilt. Now he knew better, and now he marveled and admired what Light was capable of doing. Even though those skills had lead to homicide and he had no intention of ever unchaining Kira - he was an artist, and L respected that. He was a liar like the world has never known, at least, if the world had never known L. With a morphed quality of voice, the words that L had bid him to utter came scratching through his throat:

"I'm... I'm never going back home."

_"There is a point at which even justice does injury." -Sophocles  
_

Formulas and statistics, theories and deductions. It all was so conceivable at one time, it was all a complex but very logical strategy. It had all been diligently charted out in Light's mind, graphed out perfectly so that the 'risk' factor was just tagged on as obligatory afterthought. Ryuuzaki would die and Light would take over the position of L. He would control the world police and lead the investigation team, all while secretly acting as Kira. Light would complete his transformation into a God... and then... the world, no crime, only peace... and...

Why did it have to happen like this?!

Light buried his face in his arms and knees to shield himself from L's cameras. His body trembled, overcome by the perception of being surrounded. He was drowning in an arctic sea, and the wintry waves crashed into him and threw his helpless body around like a rag doll. A hybrid of a shriek and a sob bubbled up his sore throat, but he gulped it back down desperately, wanting to rip out his own hair and scream.

He couldn't let Ryuuzaki see that. That fucking, gloating bastard. He had taken everything away, _everything! _The Death Notes, Light's freedom, outside society, even his own hands didn't seem to belong to him anymore because of the binds that strictly regulated their movement. And now, his own family was gone at the simple flick of a mechanical switch. This was a kind of torture that L meant for Kira – to reduce the God to slavery.

To be out of control was the most wretched type of hell.

And L knew that.

The idea – vile, terrible – that this was it, this was what defeat tasted like, day after day after day without revelation and without salvation-

That the world was so rotten so... damned... _rotten..._

Light's shoulders stopped shaking, and he slumped forward. His head felt heavy, and suddenly sitting up was too much effort. The life in him felt as though it had been choked into hazy subconsciousness, and his body fell over onto the mattress of the bed. Gravity was suddenly too strong a foe and too vicious an adversary. He was an empty shell without the strength to fight it.

For a few minutes he did nothing but stare and occasionally breathe. First his eyes landed on the hated handcuffs in front of him, then they shifted to the window and the ruthless storm outside. The focus then blurred, and everything was nothingness.

Then Light blinked.

He blinked again.

_Critical analysis leaves little room for mourning._

_Actually, mourning downright impedes critical analysis._

Like the Buddha, he needed to severe all ties to binding worldly frustration. He needed to think like a strategist. He was alive, and as long as he remained that way there was still one thing that L could never take away from him, and it was the thing that was the most precious: his mind. As long as he still had his mind, he was Kira, with or without the Death Notes. And as long as he was still Kira...

He finally closed his eyes as he lay still on the blankets. He willed himself into calmness, and correspondingly his heart rate decelerated. Exhausted sleep overcame him with the mantra of his thoughts repeating:

_As long as I'm Kira, I am Justice. _

_Justice will prevail.  
_

Amputation was a curious thing. When part of one's being is infected with something dangerous or even lethal, one can remove the poisonous piece for the benefit of the whole, and for the overall good of the entirety. Victims with diseased limbs do so and are alive and thriving for it. Kira amputated the wretches and wrongdoers from society. And now Light would likewise cut away these feelings of helplessness. When he woke up, he collected himself, ready to take on the world and whatever else L threw in his face. 

_"We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender." -Sir Winston Churchill_**  
**

Watari was becoming increasingly agitated with the Yagami situation. L had hypothesized that the circumstances wouldn't exactly grow on him – the old man was not often bothered by the more controversial actions that he took, however, on the rare occasion that he was he made it quite clear both assertively and with passive-aggression. But even though Quillsh Wammy was the man who had influenced L the most, even so far as raised him, more or less, L had no intention of sharing authority. Decisions were his, and his alone, to make.

That night, as he absentmindedly plucked at the keys of his keyboard to send an e-mail to his designated Forensic Evidence Technician, Mindy Sommers, concerning a case of mass poisoning in Ontario, he did not admit that he was distracted. The case was suspected to be criminal activity concerning the political status of the victims, and L would be sorely disappointed if the whole thing was just coincidental food poisoning. Perhaps that was why he could not concentrate, he attempted to reason. Because the case was crap.

The mint chocolate chip ice cream wasn't helping. Neither was the sugar glazed cherry pie or the strawberry angel food cake. He doused his coffee in sweetener but even these extreme measures didn't condense his mind to focus and didn't stop his eyes from wandering back to Monitor 17... where Light and B were in the same room. One in the handcuffs, one on the Courier style print of the case file.

He hadn't counted on the long-since-deceased B stirring this much psychological mayhem when he told Light to analyze the scenario. Nor had he foreseen that his attention would divert so significantly with the adolescent present. Neither could become a permanent occurrence; though he wasn't going to solve this problem Watari's way either, with a lethal gunshot and a dumpster.

When one is distracted, L reasoned, instead of ignoring it one must go to the root of the problem. So as he crouched down by Monitor 6 to finish giving instructions and attaching charts via e-mail to the FET, he told Watari to bring the mass murderer here. A relatively lengthy period of time later, L heard footsteps entering through the doors behind him.

"L," Light addressed broadly from a distance. The footsteps did not come any closer, and L assumed that Watari was setting a limit to his free movement via handgun or other threats. "I do not intend to sound as though I'm speaking out of place, being the humble convict" The cynicism there was tangible in the atmosphere. "However, if showing me the BB case was a mere inquiry as to whether or not I killed Naomi Misora, the answer is yes."

"I assumed that already," L answered flatly. He inclined his head slightly behind him, just enough so that his eyes could strain and lock on to Light's adamant face. "If I ever feel as though I need to make an inquiry to you, the process will be as simple as me asking and you providing an answer. Whether or not you choose to feel remorse for murdering a good woman and FBI agent is a decision I'll leave up to you."

"Is that why you gave me a case that was solved and closed when I was only sixteen years old?" The adolescent's words were composed of the most polite Japanese, but the cutting sarcasm tainted them. "That's useless. I thought you said that you wanted me to serve justice for you, or is that what you call me doing this ridiculous homework?"

"Homework," L repeated, because that _was _ridiculous. If he had ever been uncertain that Light Yagami was anything greater than an immature, teen-aged schoolboy, that doubt had been thoroughly extinguished. He put a hand on the floor to turn his body completely around to face the criminal, and then he stood up on his feet. "No matter how you think of it, you will need to follow my instructions perfectly or else be detained in isolation."

It had been a test of forensic comprehension and more importantly, a test of cooperation. Light was more than capable of reaching that conclusion.

"I never said that I didn't plan on following your instructions," Light said more calmly, but with an unmistakable dash of bitterness. "Haven't I followed them _perfectly _up until now?"

If he was still mad about L making him contact his family, he wasn't going to get any pity. This was the best situation for the Yagami's, who wouldn't have to think that their son was dead nor a homicidal maniac, and as for Light – losing the only people that he definitely cared about was a sacrifice he signed his name to the moment he chose to make the Death Note a habit.

L smiled wryly. "Yes, Kira has been very obedient. Oh, would you like some cake?" He signaled a hand over to the angel food, which was on a silver platter beside him. "I'd offer you pie but I ate it all."

Somehow, he had already deduced that the teenager wouldn't be grateful for this altruistic offer. "You know perfectly well that I hate sweets. I would appreciate it if you stopped being a cocky bastard-"

"_Light Yagami_," Watari cut in with venom energizing his withered voice. "Watch your mouth. If you can't behave, I will be locking you back in the room without another thought."

Light didn't appear to be shocked or concerned by this warning. His face was composed and completely relaxed. The only movement was in his hardened amber eyes, which flickered mildly, reminiscent of how his brain was absorbing data and categorizing it for later calculations. Patiently, he chose his next words: "All right, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry. After all, I owe you my life for saving me from Interpol."

"Thank you, Watari. You can go." A smirk found its way across L's lips. Case forgotten about, L stared directly into Light's irises. "Did you have any questions?"

Of course he was referring to the BB case file, and Light knew that, too. Automatically, however, Light inquired, "What's the date today?"

L could have lied (something that Light would take into consideration regardless), but he would have to know that information anyway if he were going to work as a detective. "It's the seventh of January. I'm sorry, but you missed Christmas as well as New Year's in your confinement."

"It's not a big deal to me, but those holidays are excessively commercialized in the United States, right?" He said this easily, as though they were now having pleasant conversation. Half-heartedly pretending that he weren't trying to weasel more restricted information out of his captor, and pretending said captor wasn't well aware of it. "Especially in a city of this size."

"What size would that be?" L implored, cognizant of the fact that it was impossible for Light to deduce such a thing given the measures they had taken to keep him ignorant.

Light turned briefly toward the window on the opposite wall, as though diligently studying the landscape. In vain, unfortunately for him, since the raging snowstorm barricaded out the whole view of the city. Obviously guessing, he turned back to L. "Two million people. Is it Chicago?"

"You could try to be a little more creative when it comes to extracting information out of me." He tilted his head to the side and gave him a thoughtful look. "I have high expectations, so please don't disappoint me. You know, cake really does improve cognitive ability, perhaps you'll rethink my offer?"

The adolescent's eyes narrowed, games over, and he tried the diplomatic approach. "Look, what if we made a deal? We'll exchange information. I know that there's still a few things that you're curious to about the Kira case, and I'm curious as to what the circumstances of my life are now. I won't use the data you give me to escape because I don't want to be in Interpol's custody, and you won't use the data I give you to incriminate me because I've already been caught and confessed."

"Your location is a non-issue to you, Yagami-kun," L dismissed firmly. "You don't have any purpose outside of this building anyhow, so consider it irrelevant."

He looked as though he wanted to argue, but wisely decided against it. "I understand. But to work for you to the best of my abilities, I need to be informed about world news, so the position of Interpol concerning Kira-"

"Is also a non-issue," L interrupted, not caring to hear that sentence through. "You don't have any business prodding in that area any longer. The aftermath of the loser's defeat is in the victor's concerns."

It may or may not have been an insensitive thing to say (though sensitivity was hardly a concern to L when it came to dealing with a mass-murderer), but it was absolutely worth it to see Light try to hold back his fiery anger and maintain a mask of nonbelligerence.

"Also, I might as well tell you now that non-issues aren't open for discussion," L added, snatching a cube of the angel food cake from the platter on the floor and inserting it into his mouth. "You're aware that it also comes across as suspicious behavior, and no matter what your private intentions are I'm certain that you want to earn my trust. So you might as well cooperate."

"I have every intention of cooperating," Light insisted, recovering his insincere voice.

"Not every intention. I know Light-kun better than that."

"Think what you want!" he snapped, his patience dwindling. "I can't do much about that, or much about anything right now!"

"As intended."

Just as Light was about to completely lose his temper, something peculiar happened. The lights in the room began to dim, and then suddenly-

An instant blackness, like a plague of ink and midnight filled everything. The buzzing hum of the electricity that ran all twenty computers was hushed. The only sound was the storm howling outside the glass of the window, as though supremely pleased with itself for its mischief.

_Damn._

The darkness swept through the room at the speed of light. It splashed over the walls, throughout the window and it lingered like a ghost's cold breath between their faces. L blinked in surprise, and then blinked again when his eyes realized they were blind. But there was no source of light to reflect his irises away from their blindness – out the large window, all of the city buildings in the distance were also suddenly unlit.

"What's going on?" Light demanded. A pointless question, since the adolescent was more than capable of reaching the logical conclusion, but it was perhaps his habitual paranoia that made his voice waver.

"A black-out, Yagami-kun." L stood up, glancing down mournfully in the direction of his computer. The system had a ten minute auto-save program set up, but when one worked as rapidly as L did then even a few meager minutes meant losing a great deal of progress. At least he hadn't been communicating with the Vice President at that point – how embarrassing, and more than that if the government so desired they could narrow down L's location solely on geographical areas that experienced a loss of power.

Down the hallway, Watari's voice called. It wasn't loud, because the man's voice was too withered and old to shout, but L heard its venerable quality intently. "Ryuuzaki, it's the storm. I don't have an estimate yet of how long power will be out, but I'll contact someone if it takes longer than a few minutes."

L sighed tiredly. "It's fine. Just please find flashlights."

"Would you like assistance in securing the criminal?"

He restrained himself from making a comment about Kira having night vision among his vast superpowers, and instead said in Light's direction, "What do you think, Yagami-kun? Will I require assistance in keeping you restrained?"

The comeback in the darkness was rather sarcastic. "I'm scheming my grand escape as we speak, but please don't let that influence your decision."

"I hope that your grand escape doesn't involve you moving. I'll be annoyed if you step on any computer equipment, stumbling through the dark." There were twenty computer monitors scattered across the floor in an organization that only L understood. That number count didn't include either the other hardware that L used, and he really would be pissed off if Light tripped over something.

"It would also tug at my conscience if I damaged your property," came the cheeky response.

"I'd make you pay for it," L vowed, scratching his head. "Anyway, a hint of advice. Since we don't have electricity, all of the electronic locks are frozen. That means that without the emergency access codes, which you don't know, you wouldn't even make it off this floor of the complex."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were trying to discourage me."

The detective smirked at that. Even though he was also blind, he was able to see this room without the use of his eyes. He stepped forward in the direction of Light's voice, avoiding several keyboards and wires. He felt the floorboards underneath his toes, and he moved at a pace precisely comparable to any other day. Even though he could not see his face, he detected that Light was apprehensive about his enemy suddenly being so close to him in the dark. Instinctively the youth retreated a step.

"Yagami-kun," L warned in reprimand against this movement. He then reached over to grasp the adolescent's wrist. The arm tugged away on its own accord, but L's fingers constricted around it fixedly. "Follow my every step. I'll bring you to a place where you can wait."

The journey was a winding road, and L moved slowly enough for the blinded Light to mimic his every move. They navigated through the maze of fragile machinery. Both of the youths were light-footed, and even though Light carried himself with the more natural grace, their steps were equally deft and hushed.

For no reason that was worth rationalizing, L's hand tightened around the wrist. Light tensed slightly in response, his own silent complaint at the treatment but he did not voice whatever frustration he was feeling. The homicidal maniac was probably more than uncomfortable about being lead through the unknown by his worst enemy, but to L, there was something else.

Familiarity – that's what it was. L recalled that he hadn't physically contacted Light since November. As obsolete as the action was, there was just _something_ about it. He didn't often feel familiar with anything, the only constant thing in his life was Quillsh Whammy and perhaps his favorite laptop computer. Everything else was constantly changing, adjusting and moving to the new optimum of social evolution. Light Yagami should have also cycled away, a case buried quite literally in a casket and forgotten about. Just like B.

Even now, L was convinced that his intentions were purely economical and moral. Kira would be extricated and Light would pay for his damage by serving L for the rest of his life.

But this was an anomaly to those convictions. Light's wrist was soft and cool from the chill in the room, but the blood that pulsed underneath was warm. Against his conscious will, L's mind drifted back to the days over the last summer when he and Light worked side by side, connected by a chain in addition to an impenetrable will to succeed. Even now he felt the familiar handcuff encircling Light's wrist, right under where his hand clasped it, as though those old days were crossing over with tonight. The two of them, partners, companions, and... and what else?

"L," Light proclaimed steadily in response to the recondite silence.

Of course, then there was reality. _L_, he said, not _Ryuuzaki_. Those days had been a facade on both their parts, an attractive and appealing sort of friendship painted by two insincere artists: L and Kira. But the need for art had disappeared now, and the world was kept in place by handcuffs instead of a pallet of colorful lies.

The truth was black and white.

L had guided them to a corner by the window, on the opposite side from the doors that he wanted the convict to avoid even thinking about. The only thing within a five foot radius of them at this location was a large potted plant that would be much more difficult to accidentally break. He obeyed Light's hint, and released the wrist. "You can sit here."

Immediately, Light tossed his back against the wall and slid down to the floor. Ever so vaguely, L could make out his figure through a pathetic glow of light that somehow managed to reflect off the wild dancing snowflakes dimly tiptoe across the floorboards. Light's knees were drawn up and he wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin in the crevice between the limbs. L had grown accustomed to staring at the ex-suspect, and accustomed to analyzing his every movement. Now that the world had gone blank, L found himself squinting to better make out the form.

"So B was your friend, huh?" Light suddenly theorized.

A thumbnail found itself nestled between L's front teeth, clicking itself quietly as the detective studied the youth in the shadows. "What makes you conclude that?"

There was a brief pause, as though Light were studying him back out of the corner of his eyes. "I assumed that you were emotionally involved in some way. You don't usually take on cases with less than ten dead bodies unless there was high-profile assassination involved, and that guy just killed three unimportant people."

"Unimportant people..." L murmured. "Kira places a rather low value on human life, isn't that so?"

"Those people were of no special purpose to you, to B nor to society. It was a serial killer and it was homicide but you took the effort on a case of relative tiny scale compared to your normal work." Light continued on with confidence, completely ignoring the other's remark. "And even more obviously, the name – B. L, and B. An idiot could figure that one out. And Watari uses the initial 'W' as his signature. This is a whole system, isn't? The alphabet thing."

"Sounds like a conspiracy theory," he answered with exaggerated curiosity.

"The cryptic man called 'L' controls all of Interpol, and no one has seen his face or knows his real name. And B, he was significant enough for you to pencil in an appointment on your busy schedule."

Pencil in time for B, huh? That was quite a way to put it. B was twisted to the point of psychological perversion. He yearned to be the best, he _had _to be the best to the point where he wanted to annihilate the one thing standing in his way: that had been his lookalike. L. No one had wanted to destroy him so thoroughly and on such personal terms, not until Kira. And not since then had L been so ensnared in his own hardened convictions to put a nefarious, _genius _criminal mastermind in check-mate – and then destroy them in turn. Not until Kira.

"B was not my friend," L said plainly. He leaned against the wall behind him, shoving his hands into his pockets because of the chill that leaked in through the window. Without electricity, the room was getting colder by the second. "It's true that I was associated with him at one time. He specifically challenged me, and considering his level of intelligence I felt the need to deal with him myself."

"You mean through a proxy, Naomi Misora," Light, ever the smart-ass, added. "Can I throw a hypothesis on the table?"

"You can throw it farther than that."

Unperplexed, Light persisted. "If the alphabet thing _is _a conspiracy, some kind of organization, and B was intelligent enough for you to take on, then he must have been potentially dangerous, right? This is the most secret and powerful group in the world if they can control all the police through Interpol. B knew your real name. You wanted him silenced."

The eighteen-year-old had a frightening knack for abstract, complex thought. It was this kind of ability that nearly killed L last November. However, it wasn't fear that he was feeling now, it was instead a strange concoction of amusement and severe irritation, such a strange tear between simple emotions that L canceled out the negatives and was back to neutrality. "You haven't considered that I didn't have him executed. His crimes merited just that, considering that California punishes murderers with the death penalty, but the data I sent to court gave him his life. Similar to how I dealt with Light Yagami."

The response was instant and certain. "In both cases you did not spare those in question out of mercy. 'Execution is too good for Kira', you told me. It was economical, but you aren't practical in the conventional sense. B intended to commit suicide after his crimes, you did not allow that escape. And to ensure that nothing he might spill about Team Alphabet was taken seriously, you had him thrown into a high-security mental hospital so he would be forced to live out his days knowing that _you _had won."

...'Team Alphabet'? There was hardly any kind of alliance between the children that competed for the position of 'L' and the mentors of Wammy's House orphanage. They only shared a common goal and would have similar obligations to fill if they succeeded. ...But the name was rather catchy.

"Your tone is quite condescending," L finally commented dryly, his head lifting up toward the ceiling as though appealing to the heavens to witness this hypocrisy. "Of course, Kira, being quite an egocentric child, is quick to cast judgments to the point of contradicting himself."

"Not true," Light argued. "My actions were economical and efficient."

"Mine are moral."

"Moral!" he cried out, obviously disturbed by this statement and making quite a show of it. "What... what do _you_ know about morality?"

The detective's eyes flickered back down to the prisoner. Without hiding his disdain, he remarked, "Enough to not become the first degree murderer of thousands of people."

That quieted Light. L narrowed his eyes, trying without success to make out the youth's expression. He could see an outline, a curled body that was very still except for a slight shivering that was likely due to the abnormally low temperature of the room.

"You didn't solve the BB case, L," Light finally claimed. "_I did._"

A disconcerting silence filled the room as assiduously as the wintry chill. L's mouth unhinged without his consent as he struggled to find the proper words to unleash upon this warped attitude that was synthesized from arrogance and boredom.

Before he could come to a conclusion, however, the adolescent commenced his attack. "A criminal who murdered for purely selfish reasons – not out of self defense, not out of righteousness. A disgusting man who graphically took the lives of three innocent people, and one of them was a child. He tortured them and mutilated them and shamed their bodies, all to draw attention to himself. Sustaining a prisoner who has no hope of freedom is a waste of the government's money and resources. _He should just die._"

"To say those things, that's only the right of governments and gods," L growled, his voice lowering into something dangerous. "And you, Light Yagami, are neither."

"I solved the BB case when I wrote his name into my Death Note." Light suddenly laughed out loud, but it was not in humor – it was a taunt. "I wrote so many names, but I remember his. 'Beyond Birthday'. What a stupid English name, I thought. L, is your real name equally stupid?"

L contorted his tone to amazement, though nothing surprised him. He knew this boy well, he had psychoanalyzed him for over a year. Though finally hearing these words out loud was as satisfying as it was disturbing. "That's how easy a child kills when you give him a murder weapon, huh? He damns human beings to their graves, and all he thinks about is the quality of their names."

Light regained his composure. Quickly, he defended, "There's nothing abnormal about that. I do not need to respect murderers."

"And neither do I," L countered, pointedly looking down at his adversary.

Even in the darkness, Light seemed to feel the glare, and his face snapped up to meet it. "I wasn't wrong. I was not wrong in my actions. Kira was saving the world. There are crime chart statistics, and crowds of supporters to prove it. The equation is _mathematical_, and someone as intelligent as L is a fool if he can't see it. I will never regret what I did, and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had the chance."

There was something fascinating about Light's voice, so rich and full of resolution. L could not even see his brilliant amber eyes, nor his flawless expression so grim and convinced of his beliefs. He didn't need to. Light's voice supported itself, enchanted the atmosphere and lit up the darkness. There was a golden fire in his aura that melted the coldness, if only for a few seconds. Yes, so captivating that L let the idiot say his piece, he listened to that misguided and even insane declaration.

Then when L had his turn to speak, he simply said, "And that is why you will be wearing those handcuffs for the remainder of your life."

The remark hit its target on the proud and even ostentatious youth who was trying to psychologically convince himself that he would definitely not spend the rest of his young existence in high-security captivity. L could see him shift, pulling subconsciously against the shackles around his wrists.

L aimed to claim this conversation as his own victory. He stepped closer to Light, and then kneeled down to crouch at eye-level before his adversary. "I'm glad for your honesty concerning your feelings on this issue, and in return I am also being honest. You won't stir any sympathies from me no matter how vigorously you defend your position. However, if I'm not otherwise preoccupied I will be more than happy to inform you of your many faults."

Light's eyes flashed through the darkness. It was crimson, a flash of bloody crimson. For a split second, L saw B materialize in the place where he was sitting. B was there with his red eyes, a mirror image of L in every way except... except everything that mattered.

B had never haunted him. Not when he knew the person in the flesh, not when the man left Wammy's with threats of vengeance and not when he became a ruthless killer. The hauntings began when Watari delivered the news. _Here's the criminal death list for last night, Lawliet. Beyond Birthday is among the casualties... _But B wasn't dead, he watched in the mirrors, and he resonated in Light's eyes.

"What if you couldn't?" The red eyes were golden again. Light's golden eyes, and the voice was soft and hesitant.

"Huh?" L had been lost in his own ponderings.

"What if you couldn't prove me wrong?" Light said with more confidence this time. "What if I made you a Kira supporter?"

The detective stared at him with wide eyes and spoke in a voice that was dripping with deadpan sarcasm. "Then you really must have god-like powers."

"Would you release me?"

"This is getting _far _too hypothetical for my tastes," L remarked with disapproval. "And you sound as though you're trying to cast a bargain. That's not really your place, considering your position."

Light's arms raised from around his legs, and his knees lowered until he was sitting on them. His head inclined. "You like challenges, so I'm challenging you. If I win, you have to let me go because you'll believe that I didn't do anything wrong, anyhow."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think that you have anything to bet of equivalent price. I already own you."

"If you win, then you'll never have to worry yourself over my security again. I would never run away because I would believe that I deserved this punishment."

That issue was irrelevant. With enough technology, trust is obsolete and prisoners remain as such. L would never release Light, the notion itself was absurd. They both knew this very well. Why Light had proposed this game was not a mystery – he designed it for his own comfort so that the part of him that wouldn't release Kira would have some hope that maybe one day he would find his way to freedom.

L reached forward, clasping his hand against Kira's. The youth's arm jerked slightly in surprise until he seemed to remember that in America it was customary to seal deals with a handshake.

The hand was beating with the warmth of life. L found himself smiling for no reason aside from this simple fact. The feeling of Light's fingers cautiously bending against his own, and then more firmly as his conclusions hardened. The essence of Light Yagami, the divinity of Kira, all radiating through the fingertips that L could not even see with his eyes.

The smile across L's face widened as the lights finally flickered back on, the blackout fully remedied.

Justice will prevail.

_-To Be Continued. . ._

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Author's Notes: 

1. Dead in absentia - legally dead. In many countries, if a missing person is not heard from after seven years, and no evidence is offered to the contrary, they are considered deceased by law.

2. The BB case - is the case that Naomi Misora worked on under L. The facts in this story are very brief in comparison to the story in _Another Note_, however the only change I made was not mentioning that the second victim - the little girl - had the initials of QQ instead of BB. Complicated, but not worth explaining in this story.

Sorry to subscribers for the late update! Thanks everybody for reading. :-)


	5. The Checkered Board

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE, Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: still no.

A/N: It's amazing to think that I started this story in June 2007, and here it is already 2008 and only five chapters. To those who have been reading and sending words of encouragement, I'm sorry I haven't updated so often. This is actually my favorite fic that I'm writing, since it puts my two doomed soulmates in a relatively safe position, though of course drama will ensure. Anyway, with my first semester of college keeping me busy I didn't write as much as I'd like to, but I fully intend to get back into it starting now-ish, and update these fics regularly. Thanks everyone!**  
**

**The Checkered Board**

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"Perfection does not exist. To understand it is the triumph of human intelligence; to desire to possess it is the most dangerous kind of madness." -De Musset

_"L," the macabre voice creaked, as harsh as a whisper though its master's vocal chords rumbled. There was a pause for waiting, and then the sound softened while rising into a whine. "L, let's play draughts."_

_L had a mild distaste for the attention that the younger orphan gave him. He did not particularly enjoy anyone hanging around him like an incessant magnet, never did, and as such he had not taken much of a liking to the boy. B was first brought here by Quillsh Wammy when he was ten from a place that no one mentioned and for reasons that no one spoke of, though this policy was certainly not unheard of around the orphanage. Many of the residents here were victims of neglect, abuse, traumatic stress which lead to an array of psychological issues, but L had little sympathy for the young adolescent who had made it his personal mission to mime and copy everything the top student did. L did not try very hard to conceal his irritation, though Wammy had said that he should be pleased that the child was so fond of him. _

_The thing was, he didn't think that B _was_ fond of him. No, the attachment was different - it was parasitic._

_"Hey, L. I'm challenging you to play draughts."_

_This was ignored, and though L was reading his book diligently, he sensed the heads of younger orphans who were playing hide-and-seek in the church pews turn to the scene. Yes, B was second in line to L for winning the title of 'greatest detective', the crown that would control all the world's policing forces. Yes, B was exceptionally intelligent, a child prodigy, a genius. However, the fact remained that he was_ second_ best. He was without question not as good as L, and to those not as good, a challenge is empty words. As weightless as a waste of time._

_"You know, L," B continued without a care at being disregarded. "You're always studying in the chapel. Do you believe in gods?"_

_L didn't look up. "The reason is that generally it's quiet in here."_

_Giving in and speaking was probably counterproductive in shaking off the bothersome youth, but L was aware that when it came to B, the probably of positive results was low no matter what course of action was taken. He could drop hints in swarms, or even outright announce that he was too busy for conversation, but that seemed to amuse B even more. Keeping silence excited him less, but B also was gifted in the exquisite strength of determination, and, like his victim, always preferred to win. _

_"It wouldn't be quiet if you were listening for gods," B mentioned, springing forward an additional awkward step in an effort to reanimate L's own quirky mannerisms. "Because you're in a church, where the gods are. But you don't believe in gods."_

_L focused his attention on Japanese verb conjugation._

_"Me, too."_

_Causative -ru ending, irregulars _する_ and_ 来る,_ explicit actors in a statement and honorific commands, the kanji is much easier, just details when one understands the mathematical system of the language. It's a problem with a logical solution, language is, like everything else when analyzed properly. Japanese wasn't particularly similar to any other language that L had learned, but he was sixteen years old and this would be his seventh. _

_"Sometimes I'm very sure that this orphanage is haunted."_

_"Why is that, B?" L finally humored him, looking up from his textbook. He wanted to be fluent by the end of the year, but B had a nasty habit of looming around until he got some form of recognition, so they might as well get this over with. "Haunted, is that so?"_

_The smallest of feral smiles twisted across the youth's pale face. Assuming that he was invited to freely converse with the studying older boy, he hopped onto the couch next to him and perched in a way that not only mimicked L's favorite seated position but exaggerated it, squatting down into a position that looked nothing short of ridiculous. _

_"Because I'm here," he announced, leaning forward and smirking in L's face._

_L didn't want to encourage this behavior with a facial expression, so he simply said, "I don't think you're a ghost."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Fairly."_

_"L Lawliet," B giggled, jumping off of the couch, landing deftly on the carpet and resting both elbows on the coffee table._

_That again annoyed L. How did the child know his full name, anyway? Part of Roger's headmaster philosophy was that all the children here were starting new lives, and their old identities were only for them to know. Of course, personal files and records were kept locked in the basement, for the sake of legality. Perhaps B had been snooping around there, the notion wouldn't have surprised him. "You aren't dead enough to be a ghost," L stated sullenly._

_"But I know what happens when the number hits 'zero'."_

_"A cryptic statement."_

_"I know what happens. 'A' killed herself." B stuck a thumb into his mouth, but instead of gnawing it passively like L had a tendency to do, he bit into his own skin with a vigor that could have drawn blood. "A rope around her neck, and it snapped. Do you wonder what that feels like?"_

_L sighed. "I do not wonder, Ryuuzaki."_

_"Then neither do I," B copied. He raised a pale hand and picked up a white chip on the game board. "Now let's play draughts."_

L had the ability to explore multiple strings of thought simultaneously. This skill had been trained and perfected as he practiced it incessantly through his work, expanding ideas into hypotheses and to theories and to possible conclusions, as broad and complex as a computer program. What did not come as easy for him was the capability to banish unwanted thoughts. His mind ran mechanically, running regardless of whether or not he offered permission.

Frowning, he stood up, stretching his back until he heard a thread of satisfying _pops_ as his vertebrae cracked. He needed sugar and coffee – these things always aided in steering his thoughts in the directions he wanted, a surge of sustenance that kept him at the level of control that he wanted to be.

Though he was, admittedly, brooding a bit as he walked down the hallway, he looked up when he heard the soft ringing music of a piano in the distance. Something traditional English, some ballad –_ Greensleeves_, L recognized. The pianist played no chords throughout the verses, instead his fingers danced up and down across the black and white keys into something in minor key, ringing hauntingly as it vibrated across the walls of the hallway. No one was singing, because Watari was too stiff to try and L certainly wasn't going to, but the poetry of the distraught romantic in love with the prostitute 'Lady Greensleeves' whispered through his head nonetheless.

_Alas, my love, you do me wrong,  
To cast me off discourteously.  
For I have loved you well and long,  
Delighting in your company. _

L's thoughts brought him back to the orphanage in Winchester. When he had stayed there, he heard the song frequently enough. Orphans were always trying their hands at music, as it was supposed to harness multiple areas of the brain and therefore could be considered exercise for intelligence ability. Quillsh Wammy had books upon books of English sheet music that he played on the grand piano back there, and because of his fondness and general talent and the instrument, he had brought them to various locations that the pair operated in. L had never paid much attention to it before, but there it was, the culprit. No wonder he was being plagued with thoughts of B again, because if nothing else, music had the uncanny ability to reanimate memories.

"Watari," the detective announced as he turned into the richly furnished living room. The old man was sitting erect on the bench in proper playing posture, his withered hands proving their youth as they controlled the black and white ivory on the French baby grand piano. "I don't like that song, so don't play it."

"You may wear earmuffs." It was annoying when the old man treated L like the same child that he had brought to Winchester all of those years ago, but it had to be remembered that Quillsh Wammy was a well-bred, well-studied multi-billionaire inventor and detective, and subsequently, would never be any man's servant.

_If you intend thus to disdain,  
It does the more enrapture me,  
And even so, I still remain  
A lover in captivity._

"But if I do that, my reasoning ability will decrease by... 15 percent."

"You may go downstairs."

"Watari!" L was certain that he never whined except around his often prickly older partner. But the problem remained, and that was aggravating. Now that he had taken notice of the music and the useless memories, he couldn't ignore them. He glared. "I need to speak with you about something immediately."

The music dwindled down in the heavy-chorded chorus. Watari's exasperated sigh was heard over the quieting piano, until eventually he turned around, adjusting his spectacles and looking down upon his prodigy. "By God, I do believe you weren't spanked enough as a child."

There he was, acting like a mentor again. L continued, undaunted. "Did Beyond exhibit any psychological disorders prior to his stay at the orphanage?"

"Beyond Birthday?" Watari asked unnecessarily, brows raising in surprise. "...How does this relate to any current case?"

"I don't have to explain."

Again the old gentleman sighed, looking as though he had been hit with a fierce migraine and would require aspirin shortly. "The boy was born prematurely when his mother suddenly died, but he miraculously made what seemed to be normal development. He was raised by an abusive uncle, and at ten years of age, Beyond ran away. Ironically, three days later, his uncle was killed in a car accident."

"So his status changed from runaway to orphaned," L concluded indifferently. "And not long thereafter, you found him."

"Yes. He had a history already of violence toward other children recorded in the previous orphanage, but when he had underwent psychoanalysis test before coming to Wammy's House, there was nothing to be found. Of course, that was in the '80s, and that kind of evaluation has evolved since then."

L bit at his thumbnail, until spotting a tray of fresh grapes, in which he exchanged nail for fruit. At the risk of sounding childish, he spoke what was on his mind for the chance that some connection might be uncovered. "He used to tell me that he was a ghost, and that he knew when people were going to die."

"My own opinion of his psyche is that Beyond was very immature."

L took one last grape and allowed himself a moment to chew. Nothing, then. Well, the matter was rather obsolete anyhow, since B was a closed storybook. It was true that the best way to diminish distractions was to go ahead and take care of them, but there was nothing here to finish. There was something stimulating these recollections, and certainly it wasn't piano music. Watari played all the time, wherever they were. The New York City location was in no way associated with B either. The stimulus might have been the presence of Light Yagami, for often enough L would be assailed with images of his orphaned challenger while thinking of the teenager, yet this had never occurred during Kira investigation. Perhaps anyway, the notion of Light being here was enough to kick him off track from his normal frame of thinking. Either way, deliberating over it further didn't seem to be improving the situation at all, so the temporary course of action would be peppermint coffee and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and he intended to go execute said action immediately.

"Why did you ask?" Watari inquired as he bounded away.

He stopped in his footsteps back toward the hallway and frowned without turning his head. Contemplating this seriously, he spoke his answer. "I don't know."

_"Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names." -John Fitzgerald Kennedy _

"These are the video files from the Miami airport on the 20th, which is the last recording of George Fletcher," Watari announced as he entered the room with a bundle of object in his arms. Even though his hands were full, he lingered at the door long enough to close it securely before stepping in to properly enter. "The footage from the parking lot is low quality due to rainstorm."

"Thanks," Light said briskly as the DVDs were set on the desk next to the portable DVD player.

Watari continued stoically. "The labeled disk has witness interrogation that the Miami police force compiled. The file that I'm giving you has additional photos and stats of the suspects, and typed alibis."

Light nodded and shifted his gaze away from the old man and to the papers neatly arranged like the tiles of a chess board on the surface of his desk. He opened the manila envelope, which was heavy from reports, graphs, pictures and theories. He had requested specific data from Watari, and for whatever reason, the American police force had handed over information that was probably very classified. The reason was unknown to Light, for though he was certain that his work here wouldn't be attributed to L, Erald Coil or Danuve - Ryuuzaki's top detective aliases, he must have been given a name credible enough to be allowed to work on cases.

The arrangement was admittedly inconvenient, but through the course of a few weeks they had established some semblance of balance and compromise. Given extreme security restrictions, it was impossible for Light to truly take on a case by himself, though he was charged with fulfilling as much investigation as possible until Watari or the police would complete the rest. The elite detective also only assigned him the kind of cases that he himself wouldn't accept - single or double body murders, relatively minor theft or a kidnapping. Watari acted as a bridge between Light and the outside world, since L himself wasn't about to take the time out of his busy schedule to accommodate his prisoner.

Despite being confined mostly to a few rooms, the situation wasn't exactly boring, but it was incredibly awkward. Light was by no means opposed to the work he was doing in the sense that he was punishing criminals, but there was an underlying hollow feeling. Months ago, this process had been as easy as glancing at a photo and scribing a name. A hundred criminals could be extinguished in a night with a Death Note, but the conventional method called for entire days of research even for the most simple cases, especially since the court could not convict a lawbreaker unless sufficient evidence was offered. Quite frankly put it was... inefficient.

And then there was L.

Even today, when there was nothing left for his adversary to be suspicious of with all charges admitted, L had apparently made a irreversible habit of boldly staring at him, every twitch of a movement he made and with the sharp intensity of attempted telepathy. It bothered Light, in fact, he loathed being around L. Of course, he loathed being anywhere else in the stupid building too, but if he had ever hated the feeling of L's cool eyes prickling his skin before, that was scrap in comparison to how it felt now.

_He wanted to kill him_.

...But L knew that.

The security was incredibly heavy in this building, as Watari has mentioned that they had designed it themselves, just like the building back in Tokyo. Light was in an elaborate prison cell, and he accepted that - as much as it frustrated him, he accepted that he was here. All that there was to do was to bite his tongue and attempt to act as professionally as possible. L had not passed up any opportunity to taunt him, and as tempting as it was to fall for the bait, that would be counterproductive as far as maintaining dignity went. There was no point in engaging in a crude scuffle with him, the result would inevitably be some immature reminder that Kira was the defeated, that Kira had...

Now the date was January 24th of the year 2005. It had been almost three months since he had been caught, three months and counting without an end in sight. But thinking about it like that made Light feel as though he was losing his mind in a routine that was always subject to L's intervention. And then he would fall into habits: wake up, take a shower, eat, abandon his wandering thoughts completely in the mathematical comfort of the cases, occasionally consult with L or Watari, sleep again, the same. If he left the bedroom he would be handcuffed, and adjusting to this, he found himself calmly offering his wrists to be shackled. Acceptance, more acceptance, and it made Light want to punch something (or someone) but ultimately, his passion powering the frustrations of his helplessness... it was completely useless.

(And he would dream about drowning again, about giving in to the tides of the ocean and admitting his own mortality, admitting that there were forces out of his control, admitting that he might die here and what was the point of treading water if it only exhausted him further?)

Light closed his eyes, resting his head for a moment in his hands as he sat at the desk. "Damn it," he murmured under his breath.

He couldn't function like that, he couldn't keep staring at the inevitability below him. Instead he had to keep his gaze upward, up to the things he believed in, up to what was righteous and up to the only things that would keep him from losing himself in addition to his freedom. The only lifeboat here was the sky, which, to gods, was good enough.

_"The privilege of absurdity; to which no living creature is subject but man only." -Thomas Hobbes_

"Good afternoon, Kira," L greeted.

Light didn't bat an eye at the continued use of addressing him as 'Kira'. It was a mockery, like anything else, a declaration of what L so immaturely claimed as his trophy. If the bastard was going to act like he was six, that was his business, and Light didn't feel like rising to the bait. "Why the interruption? I was working."

"You constructed a deck of cards out of the paper I gave you," L said curiously, waggling his silver spoon. "You were playing Solitaire."

"I was busy waiting patiently for you to get back to me with the information that I need," Light halfheartedly argued. "Don't reprimand me for getting bored when I have nothing to do."

"Play with cards is a healthier pastime than some of the other things you've done when bored, so I'm not reprimanding you. Instead I invited you out here to play draughts with me, since I am also waiting for an important e-mail." When there the response wasn't anything more than a cool glare, L unmindfully added a wide-eyed, "It's more fun playing games with two people, you know."

The board was an international set with the black and white pieces. That was annoying. If L was from England, than the draughts board should have been red and white. If they were in America, which he was almost certain was the case, then it would be called 'checkers' with red and black. Except Light knew that they _were_ in America, and L knew that he knew so the reason L was using an international set was undoubtedly so that they could use their respective usual colors of black and white. He sincerely doubted this was L at his most sensitive, but instead an unspoken challenge. Regardlessly, Light obediently sat down on the white side.

"I'm not forcing you," L remarked, his mouth full of a spoon bearing a generous burden of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "You don't have to scowl."

Light looked at him fixedly, with his hands firmly clasped in his lap. "I want to make a wager."

The detective's face easily contorted into a childish pout. "Yagami-kun won't play merely for fun?"

There weren't any words in Japanese or English either that could briefly account for what an answer to that rhetorical question was, so the adolescent pursed his lips and simply continued to settle his gaze on the gangly man.

"What are your stakes?"

_"All actions are judged by the motive prompting them." -Prophet Muhammad_

Ryuk had never quite realized the full extent of what stroke of luck it must've took for someone like Light Yagami to pick up his Death Note. Of course, he knew that he was in for a good time when he first met the human and already a hundred names had been etched in. And then, even better, the boy was smart, and bored, just like Ryuk was. But it wasn't like dropping notes in the human world was common practice, so he rather assumed that all humans would use the thing for world domination and shit. They all had their crazy little dreams, and adding the power to kill to the equation should make for an obvious result... right?

But when he set the Death Note down on the sidewalk one night, in hopes of another Light Yagami, all he caught was a wretched creature called a 'dog'. It took the notebook in its jaws, shaking its mangy head from side to side, and then began to run away. Ryuk yelped in surprise and caught up with the beast, glaring down at it. He wasn't exactly sure if animals even needed to touch a notebook to see the Shinigami, but the dog apologetically dropped the thing before running off with a whimper.

At least _someone_ showed Ryuk a bit of respect.

So then, Ryuk decided to scout out a candidate on his own. Katsumi Yoshida was a sixteen year old adolescent girl that had gone to Light's high school, Daikoku Private Academy. She seemed pretty interested in the supernatural, and she dressed all in black and claimed that she could cast spells on her classmates. Ryuk kind of liked her fashion sense, it made her look sort of like a Shinigami.

Which was kind of interesting.

"S-so let me get this straight," Katsumi mumbled, staring at Ryuk with comically large eyes that were surrounded by heavy black makeup. "I can write anyone's name in this notebook, and then they die?"

"Yep, it's pretty straight forward," Ryuk responded. "There are a few rules but why don't you figure it out as you go?"

"And are you going to take my soul away when I'm done?" the girl whispered.

There they went again with the 'soul taking' thing. Humans were so full of themselves, and the only thing Ryuk wanted to take from her was the apples in the kitchen. But at the same time, the joke hadn't grown old just yet, so Ryuk said the same thing that he did to Light. "_Hyuk, hyuk! _I won't do a thing to you, Katsumi Yoshida. But when you die, your soul won't be allowed into heaven or hell."

Suddenly, the girl's face got really stiff. Her lips, which had been painted black and pierced with rings twice, parted to reveal white teeth, and she looked quite mournful. "That's okay," she said very seriously. "My soul was already rejected by the the gods, and they have already damned me to live and die in misery and suffering. I've been doomed to hide in the shadows ever since the day I acquired my psychic powers..."

"Eh? You have psychic powers?"

"But of course," she continued dramatically. "I've always been able to communicate with spirits. That's why I can see you now."

This was really weird, but even so, Ryuk laughed as pleasantly as a Shinigami could. Such a morbid girl would surely use the Death Note in excess, and since Light had been personally acquainted with her he could probably track her down somehow. And then Ryuk would kill Katsumi and latch back on to Light, keeping an eye on the bastard until it was time to write his name in the notebook, too. Shit, the little bastard owed him apple pie and hours of Mario Golf playtime for all of these hints he was giving.

That night, Katsumi sat in her dark bedroom and lit some candles. Ryuk watched her sit in almost a meditative state as he munched casually on the fruit he had already stolen. Not fresh. Living at the Yagami household was better, since Sachiko bought new groceries every week.

"Kaede Sato..." Katsumi whispered out loud, clutching a red pen in her hand. "This is for all the suffering you've inflicted upon me! You humiliated me, you stole my only love, and you turned my friends against me. I hate you, you bitch! You deserve to die!"

"_Hyuk, hyuk!_" Ryuk cackled as Katsumi furiously scribbled the kanji that made up the name 'Kaede Sato'. This was really entertaining. He supposed it was quite the contrast from the collected and righteous Light Yagami, but to Ryuk, 'justice' was measured on a scale of amusement, and he relaxed, ready to sit back for the ride.

"That felt really good," Katsumi announced, closing the notebook. "I think I could get used to this. I'm glad she's dead now."

Ryuk was satisfied with that, and he finished off his apple.

...But the next day, things were suddenly very different.

"Sh-she's dead," the girl choked out with tears running down her face, smearing her mascara. "Kaede died of a heart attack... she really died! She's dead!"

"Yay?" Ryuk offered excitement helpfully.

"No, no!" Katsumi screamed, throwing the Death Note at Ryuk. "I killed her! She was my best friend, make her come back! Make her come back!"

Well, what crap was this? "Once a human's name is in the notebook, it can't be erased. Resurrecting the dead is impossible, so how about you be a little more careful about who you kill next time?"

"There won't be a next time!" Katsumi sobbed. "I hate you! Leave me alone!"

How pathetic. Ryuk was annoyed. With a swish of his clawed hand, he wiped Katsumi's memory empty of all recollections of the Death Note, and thought about killing her too but her lifespan was only at about 97 human days anyway. The girl couldn't see him anymore, and she just sat in a slump on her bed, still grieving the dead Kaede.

Stupid humans. They were so unpredictably confusing. When it came to bright ideas, Ryuk had enough of a time with playing basic gambling games back with the Shinigami in his world. He may not be quite as dumb as he liked to act around the humans but this abstract thinking shit wasn't his cup of apple cider. Where the hell was Light? Finding him again would require a little more thought than he had imagined.

_"My work is a game, a very serious game." -Maurits Corneille Escher_

"You can't bet a million dollars," L stated decidedly. "You don't have a million dollars."

"It doesn't matter if I have it or not," Light answered cheekily, "-since I intend to win."

"Then where is my incentive to play?"

"You only wanted to play for fun anyhow."

"I have decided that it would be more fun to beat you and also cause you to lose a gamble."

"Then I bet my watch."

"Hm?"

"The watch my father gave me. You stole it from me, but I'm still the rightful owner, so I'll give it to you if you win."

"That watch isn't worth nearly a million dollars."

"It has sentimental value to me."

"Yes, I am sure, since Light-kun entrusted a piece of his Death Note in it."

"Do you want it or not?"

"I do. And it's mine already."

"You're a thief."

"You're a criminal and that watch with the piece of paper has your fingerprints, and that is all the evidence I need."

"...Really?"

"You appear as though you're scheming. Let's gamble something else."

Betting money would have been a waste of breath since one of the gamblers was a multi-billionaire (at least) and the other was completely penniless due to obvious circumstance. Betting property was equally pointless since one gambler owned whatever he wanted to and the other owned absolutely nothing. Betting favors also seemed borderline ridiculous since neither man was prone to keeping his promises and even if they were, considering the situation of warden and prisoner, favors would be difficult to promise. Anyway, there was a mutual distrust between the pair that in a way could characterize their peculiar relationship. They did have one thing in common: when it came down to it, they placed little value in superficial things, being geniuses who once played chess with the entirety of the Earth.

As geniuses, the stakes to their game ended up being something that they each did value to the point of going out of their way to obtain: knowledge.

"The case I assigned to you is in your scope of understanding?" L inquired nonchalantly, lifting his black piece delicately with a thumb and forefinger, raising it higher than necessary into the air before plopping it onto one of the checkered spaces.

"Don't ask about my scope of understanding, instead direct your attention to the insufficient resources you are providing me with," Light answered sullenly, tapping his white piece with a long finger and sliding it forward to a position that he had already calculated would be beneficial for jumping L's approaching units within a couple of turns. "You give me police reports and crime photos and it's inefficient. If I had what I needed at my disposal I could complete cases in half the time."

"I never said that I wouldn't give you more if you ask." L frowned at the game board, and raised a black piece high into the air. He brought it toward his eyes, inspecting it suspiciously. "Ah, I think the paint is chipping."

"Put it back where it was," Light warned, as he distinctly remembered from their handcuffed-days that L had the nasty tendency to cheat shamelessly at strategy games when he thought that it might go unnoticed. "And if what you say is true, then I want Internet access."

"I don't remember where the checker goes," the detective lied mournfully.

"Right there."

"No, I don't think so."

Light growled. "Yes, it did, and if you want to check the video cameras right now-"

"I was referring to your request," L said sourly as he returned the checker to its proper battle position. "I remembered about the checker."

The adolescent sighed – it was going to be a long life of captivity if he let everything that Ryuuzaki said to him get under his skin. Hotheadedness had lead him to more than one rash decision that lead to actions he later regretted, and when his life was on the line that was a poor gamble. "I'm no good to you if you don't give me a way to acquire the information necessary to make any progress at all."

"I never said I wasn't planning on making this work as efficiently as possible." L took his turn without even looking at the game board, his hands moved like machines. "After all, I went through the trouble of proposing this system between us in the first place when I caught you."

Light he tightened his lips moodily.

Obliviously, L continued. "Watari is able to get you everything you need, so simply ask. I chose this case for you because it looked like a relatively normal murder and robbery."

The case was the slaughter but single body crime against Miami police chief George Fletcher that took place on January 21st. The man had just returned from a criminal justice meeting in New York City and had driven from the airport back into his house at about two AM. Apparently, the man drank a beer and went straight to his bedroom, likely exhausted from his journey. Here he had met with an unknown assailant, and the body was found by a housekeeper the next morning. Fletcher carried a number of bruises and broken bones that suggested he had been beaten, and then rope burn around his neck that implied death by strangling.

"So you're going to toss me the trivial ones, huh?" Light queried dryly. He picked up a white checker to jump one of L's stragglers. "Even without proper research it seems pretty clear that the murderer was some angry scumbag with criminal history who jumped at the chance to bash the law enforcement late at night. Fletcher was in charge of putting many people behind bars, and so I already have a lead in a Florida gang. The murder crudely done, so I'm sure forensic evidence won't be a problem."

"Wow, Light-kun is for sure amazing," L proclaimed, wide-eyed as he stared at Light while countering the move by jumping Light's white piece, getting dangerously close to the end of the board where his checker would be Kinged. "You deduce things that no eighteen year old boy should be able to deduce. How scary!"

"I've helped my father with cases like this before."

"That's true, isn't it. It's your move, Light-kun."

Light took a moment to study the board again. He currently had the advantage in pawns, and he intended to keep it. Plotting a few moves and possible combinations in advance, he took his turn. "You know, I can't imagine what difference it makes to you."

The detective cocked his head to the side and chewed on the tip of his thumbnail, still preferring to stare at Light than glance at the checkerboard. "What's that?"

"The cases you're giving me. Compared to the ones you take on, they're nothing but trifles."

L tilted his head. "I don't think you're experienced enough to take on investigations of the same caliber that I do."

"That's not what I'm insinuating. What I mean is, you don't care about them. I know you don't, this much is obvious."

From that point Light had expected a loud denial of such a thing, to which Light had intended to respond with something about how if he actually cared about petty murderers and kidnappings then he wouldn't have opposed Kira. He had been itching for awhile to get on L's case and knock him a bit off of his high horse. But, of course, L had a way of messing up everything that he was planning.

"No, not really." Before Light could respond, L continued. "I admit this freely. I don't care about simple, single-body cases unless they are relevant to bigger cases."

"Do you have any idea how hypocritical that is?" Light felt something build up inside of him as he spoke. "It's incredibly unfair, it's elitist and you're not making a difference anywhere - you're just being ostentatious."

L looked Light squarely in the eye, not altering his gaze in the slightest as his fingers chose a black checker and advanced it, jumping a white. "We all do what he can," he said plainly, and then, "I have something to tell you, Yagami-kun. The dining service is bringing up apple pie, if that's still your favorite I will share with you."

When L said weird things, Light was always torn between wanting to ignore him or kick him, or one and then the other. But as he had come to know the detective better he had realized that most of the words that were uttered from his pallid lips were spoken to get some kind of reaction: in this case, L was, clearly or not, making a reference to the time the teenager had made a prisoner write about apples in his own blood before his judgment. In this very roundabout way, L likely intended to point out that Kira was just as flashy as he himself was. Light chose to pretend he didn't understand. "Why are you changing the subject? So you've acknowledged that your justice is selective as it pertains to your amusement?"

But the detective eyelids fell, narrowing his sharp glare. "I don't like repeating myself, but I did say that we all do what we can. I'm too intelligent to bother with menial cases, because there are other qualified detectives who can handle them. The ones who can do what I can are harder to find, so I claim those and let the police handle what they can."

Light had to pause momentarily, before he finally said, "That attitude is so completely arrogant-"

"I am not being arrogant. I'm accurately assessing my abilities." L tucked his hands back into his pockets. "I'm the top three detectives in the world and I see no point in wasting time with humility."

"Even so, there's no way you could tell me that you're constantly working on these cases. I know, I heard you talking, you sit here _bored_ half the time, and you can't pick yourself up and give help where it's needed."

L looked even less amused. "I have faith in the world policing agents. I do not need to micromanage the judicial system when they are capable of their designated operation on their own." L sighed loudly as he jumped another white unit. "Please interrupt your whining briefly to play, Yagami-kun."

The adolescent scowled fiercely, but proceeded to take his turn. "Call opposition whatever you want."

"Opposition? Is that what you are?" L sharpened his tone.

"No," Light said tersely. "I don't oppose what you do, I just think you're ingenuine in your convictions and I was pointing that out."

"That's fine," the detective dismissed, his owl eyes rolling down from Light's face and on to the draughts board, where there was only a brief scatter of black and white pieces left. L's pale mouth crept into something that Light recognized as his dark smile.

Realizing that during his little tirade he hadn't been paying as much attention to the game at hand, Light quickly cast his eyes upon it. Four white pieces to six black. One white was too far ahead, toward the middle of the board – a move he had made to double jump. There was no salvaging it, L would off that piece by next turn. Which left three white to six black. One of the white was Kinged, which gave it the ability to move freely, but two of L's black had the same privileges. Only one of Light's white was protecting the back row, which gave L plenty of space to King his pieces and corner what was left of Light's units. All the possible courses of action whirred through his head, every change in tactics and deviating strategy – and they all lead to one inevitable destination: L's smirking face.

In short... he had lost.

He felt his cheeks flush as he came to the same conclusion that L had come to. The last thing he wanted was to lose to L at a stupid, one-dimensional child's game like _draughts_. Not like it mattered, anyway, the results were completely useless, it wasn't as though winning would have gained him anything besides an answer from L, but the humiliation of getting too caught up in his argument and subsequently making the most idiotic moves made him want to smack his forehead against the wall, or kill L, or both.

_"There is no error so monstrous that it fails to find defenders among the ablest men." -John Dalberg, Lord Acton_

"Mr. Watari, there are numerous requests that L appear personally to the Interpol meeting in Berlin next week."

These kinds of 'invitations' had been the irritation of Watari for years, and he had long since grew out of his more hot-headed young age. Deputy Attorney General Thomas Maddison articulated what the old detective was already well aware would be the general consensus among world leaders. These politicians and policing agents had never been too thrilled about the influence L had over them, however it was accepted fact that they needed him. If they had ever had doubts about how useful he was, certainly they had dissipated after the downfall of the biggest threat to democracy in the last century, Kira.

Watari smiled into the computer monitor, and responded politely, "Attorney General, this is not possible. L will not risk having his identity uncovered."

Maddison's lips tightened. "And may I ask why it matters? L himself claims that Kira is no longer a threat."

"If the reasons for his security are unapparent to you, Attorney General, then neither L nor I feel the need to explain."

The man glared, but after a few seconds it subsided and gave way to a huff of a sigh. A pair of burly hands massaged his temple, as though he had come down with terrible headache. "Your security is important to everyone, Mr. Watari. You know we value L's services."

"Indeed."

"Which is why when you come to Berlin, I'd like to take you into protection. Things are... dangerous, to say the least."

"I thank you for the kind gesture, but I must decline," Watari said. "My work becomes more difficult if I appear to favor any particular organization over another." _Especially yours,_ he thought but did not say.

"I'm not asking for favor," Maddison insisted. "I'm telling you it's dangerous. Interpol is planting as many security measures as they possibly can, but that doesn't change the facts. We've got a dangerous enemy out there, and you can bet your pocket change that they hate you."

"Could you be more specific?" Watari requested mildly.

"Specific?" he groused through the computer screen. "_Kira's not dead_."

The old man was quiet for a moment, waiting for the Attorney General to elaborate, but apparently his silence was taken as processing this, so he responded. "If you haven't executed the criminal yet, that's your business and not L's. However, I can assure you that the heart attack rate is back to normalcy, we have been monitoring this very closely and there have been absolutely no significant fluctuations."

Maddison growled, now appearing perplexed. "You know as well as I do that to the people of the world, Kira is a symbol, not a human. The fact of the matter is that there are pro-Kira rallies, independent vigilantes publicly condemning those they deem criminals and even churches that _worship_ Kira. And this is happening worldwide, not just in America! Because of all of these damn angry mobs, harassing anyone associated with anti-Kira movements, we've kept the Interpol meeting strictly confidential, I'm just saying if you aren't careful, Berlin can be dangerous."

"You can't repress their freedom of speech or belief," Watari said, though he also found the matter annoying. "Again, L and I will have nothing to do with how much you declassify about these issues. However, I would suppose that these activities will die down in time, when people move on and find something else of interest."

"Not these righteous bastards. If Kira becomes a fucking religion, they won't give a damn about what we say."

Watari cleared his throat. "If you please, Attorney General, if mass crime ensues then perhaps L and I will get involved, but these social issues are far out of our jurisdiction. And if that is all, then I shall see you in Berlin next week."

"If you don't want our protection, then suit yourself. I just thought I'd warn you, since there is only so much we can do against these lunatics." Maddison paused. "And as far as they are concerned, L is the reason that criminals aren't disappearing anymore."

"They are absolutely correct," Watari said firmly, and exited communication.

_"But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays  
Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days;  
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,  
And one by one back in the Closet lays."  
-Omar Khayyam_

"Yagami-kun, it was a good game," the detective said cordially, scratching the back of his messy raven head. "However, it was my victory..."

"Yeah," Light snapped. "What? What do you want to know?"

"Hmm..." L inclined his face upward to the ceiling with an appearance of finding answers there. Then his eyes went comically large and he smiled. "Where did you find the Death Note?"

"At school," came the crisp answer.

That had not been the answer that L was expecting. The wide eyes blinked. "School?"

"Yes, school."

L puzzled over this with displeasure. His first thought was that Light was merely being hostile and was lying because he hated so much to lose. Yet at the same time, nothing in his tone sounded dishonest, and surely the youth would value telling the truth in hopes that L would give him the same treatment. He had specifically asked a question that he knew wouldn't be too controversial in an effort to keep the peace, or at least, he had assumed as much. "At Daikoku Private Academy? Or Gamou Prep cram school?"

"The first one."

"But_ where_?"

"Buried twenty feet underground in the courtyard. I found it by using a pirated treasure map."

"...Really?"

"No, not really, don't be stupid, _L_. It was on the ground. Anyone could have picked it up but I discovered it first. I didn't..." Light paused, his eyes leaving the detective's face and pulled toward the window as he remembered. "...even think it was real. I thought it was just some joke that the younger students made up, since so many of them just seem to want attention."

L took this in after a moment of unpleasant thought. He mumbled to himself, though the words were audible and meant to be. "This location bothers me. I cannot think of a worse place for such a murder weapon to be placed than at a high school of ambitious teenagers."

"I can," came the fast reply. "Anywhere else."

Light's eyes were lit up with a dangerous bright gold, and L's eyes roamed darkly across his cheeks. But with the intention of avoiding conflict, L continued on without debating that statement. "So you found it. Why was it there? Does it also belong to a Shinigami?"

"No."

"No, it doesn't belong to a Shinigami?"

"No, I'm not telling you." He looked at his adversary evenly. "You asked where I found it, I told you. One answer was all I wagered."

L was far from pleased at this attitude. It wasn't as though he needed to torture these answers out of the adolescent, it was only morbid – but very tangible – curiosity that drove this interrogation. Somewhat spitefully, L met Light's golden eyes and stated, "I did tell you that, considering circumstances, the process of me extracting information of you will be as easy as me inquiring and you providing the answers."

Light leaned backwards against the front of the couch behind him, stretching his handcuffed arms. "Evidently it wasn't as easy as you pegged it."

"Yagami-kun," L warned. "Do not make me-"

"Whatever," the teenager said flippantly, making a point of trying to hide a yawn. "Get over yourself and quit being so childish."

The detective blinked, taken aback.

"Even though you act like a pathetic slob, you still obviously enjoy luxury with your fancy hotels, limousines and _crème brûlée_, and even when you work you only take fun cases. I would go as far to call you spoiled, always getting whatever it is that you want."

"You're bringing the cases up again – I have reasons, and as for _crème brûlée,_ I do not like it."

"I've seen you eat it-"

"To raise my reasoning ability."

Light's lips parted, eyes incredulous, then he shook his head. "Every word you say is nothing more than you bullshitting to get a reaction. You're unbelievable. You treat the world and everyone in it like some toy crafted exclusively for your own amusement. I'm not interested in playing games with you anymore, it's a waste of both our times."

The youth began to rise above the passively-sitting detective, standing on his feet and turning around. In a split second, L was on his feet first, placing a hand on Light's shoulder. When the teenager tugged away, walking toward the hallway, L grabbed his arm tightly and shoved him against the wall.

"I am astounded by the one who is most like me out of any human."

Light stood with his wrists pinned to his chest, undaunted and not struggling, but watching his enemy levelly.

"Lying in the darkness is not so different than lying in broad daylight. When everything you say is also to get specific reactions and amuse yourself, even if you stand on a pedestal among your peers you are also not genuine."

"I only lie when I need to-"

"Don't tell me your line of thinking when I already understand it very well. You were never honest, even before you found your Death Note at school."

"You do not know what you're talking about."

"Everything that made up Light Yagami was a lie to fit in with a system and expectations that he saw as useless. He is nothing but a vigilante hiding in the skin of a prodigy. You also had everything you needed – intelligence, family, friends, charm and wit – but the primary reason that you chose to create your alter ego of Kira was only because you wanted something more that no test score could buy."

"_Justice_."

"_Amusement_."

"You think I became Kira for fun? Risking not only my life, but everything I've worked for and accomplished, to try to shine some ideals upon the world is supposed to be games for me?"

"Like some adolescent drinking alcohol at a party."

Light exhaled sharply in disapproval, and then chuckled softly as though what the man was saying was simply too ridiculous and wrong to possibly consider seriously. "Aren't you tired of psychoanalyzing me yet?"

"Why else do you think you're here?" L said with a joking smile. He leaned forward to peer better into Light's eyes, straightening his back so that he could meet them at the same height. By instinct, his fingertips dug into Light's warm palms, and at the slightest movement he could feel the twenty-seven thin bones that made up the human hand, eight in the wrist, five in the metacarpus, fourteen in the digits. Up on these fingers, fragile skeleton that L had broken months ago was completing its mending. His thumbs pressed into the vigilante's palms, sliding fair skin against flesh – brief movements as he pressed the wrists to Light's chest to demand his cooperation while L absorbed the irritation in Light's pupils. These, these were the self-proclaimed hands of justice.

The detective breathed heavily but without exerting a sound, watching silently. He had only meant to unnerve the pompous little bastard and remind him a little of his place, but then briefly he wondered if he was going so far as to lie to himself. Even in a world that functioned almost exclusively on the untruths that were the perceptions of humanity, certainly underneath it all, in the safety of the shadows that L was so accustomed to, certainly there was some notion of honesty. After all, no matter how beautifully an artist paints her lies, the laws of gravity still sent all angels crashing down to Earth, for no human – not even Light Yagami – could bear wings that might take burden the body mass of any _homo sapien_.

L felt as though the filter in his mind was being reduced to shambles as he found a flighty thought trickling through his brain: perhaps it takes a level of insanity to fully comprehend what truth actually is. L didn't think much of any kind of spirituality, but there might have been something to the idea that the mind and the body were separate, for how else could he explain why he had... adjusted to Light Yagami's presence, to the pulsing existence of his body near L's own. Even the heat of the sheets from when they had shared a bed during the investigation because L had refused to take off the chain, even the sting of Light's fist as it bruised into L's face.

Lying to himself was certainly not making him more confident in the choice to let Kira live, but unfortunately, L couldn't quite pick out which parts were real in this labyrinth of complex thoughts, until he was wondering if maybe the lies were also real, in which case he wasn't getting anywhere.

In which case, perhaps the reason he had brought Light here was for psychoanalysis, assuming that on some level he had known this all along (Lawliet, such a good liar that even he himself wasn't sure what to believe).

"Stop looking at me like that," Light snapped. "It really makes me want to punch you."

Immediately, L reverted back to reality. "You know, that's probably not in good social graces to admit out loud."

"I thought you were just condemning me for being a liar." Light shoved forward, knocking his hands free. "I'm going back to work now, and maybe you should be doing the same."

A severe irritation submerged the entirety of his thoughts like a match flame, and the command for the younger male to return almost slipped off of L's tongue. But he didn't have any reason to detain Light any longer, and if he wanted to work then by all means, that's the reason he was alive. Anyway, L had only invited him out here to lessen the icy tension between them, as well as perhaps teach him a lesson in humility and graceful defeat. He had assumed that while playing a simple game like draughts, Light would get too caught up in his attempts to justify Kira nonsense and lose sight of the thing that was much lower on his list of priorities. Yes, L had come to know him quite well, the terrorist, idealist and adolescent all.

And maybe it was long since time to admit that he didn't want to lose Light to Interpol or death or even the isolation of his bedroom, for reasons which were obvious when he didn't stop to analyze them.

_-To be continued..._

* * *

Authors Notes: 

1. A rough plot of this fic has been written since I started this, like half a year ago. A few things are altered when I'm actually writing, and thus BB will be playing a bigger role than I originally intended. For those who don't know, he is a character in the Death Note novel _Another Note_, the cause of the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases that Naomi Misora mentions in the series.

2. I used Japanese script in this, perhaps unnecessarily so as L is studying in his flashback. The words are 'suru' and 'kuru'. They were originally in this romanji, but I thought the hiragana/kanji was more appropriate since generally languages are studied in their own alphabets. If you don't have a Japanese language pack installed on your computer they will show up as boxes - I hope that doesn't distract anyone.

3. There have been some concerns about Light still having his memory. I've read the Death Note rules and I don't remember one specifically stating that if a DN is destroyed then the owner will lose his memories, but in this story, there is one piece of Death Note left, and that's the scrap that was in Light's watch, which is in L's possession. It's not been mentioned specifically in previous chapters due to total lack of pressing importance, but either way, that could also be attributed to Light retaining his Kira memory.

Thank you all for reading. I seriously, and I promise this time, hope to update soon. A double thanks to all of those who have been prodding me to update (you know who you are!) The encouragement was appreciated. XD


	6. Clash of the Titans

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 6**

Disclaimer: no I don't.**  
**

**Clash of the Titans  
**

* * *

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."  
Shakespeare, Macbeth

_L hunched over his computer, which was sprawled on the table with a mess of wires, equipment, confidential police files and strawberry cheesecake, basked only in the clicking sound of pressed keys and the ringing of _Greensleaves_ on the piano absorbed through the wall from down the hallway. __This wasn't the first real case that he had been assigned to on his own, in fact, for the passed few months Wammy had been arranging them for the prodigy exclusively. It was obvious among the orphans who had won the race – actually, it had always been obvious to everyone except perhaps Beyond Birthday, who had been unusually silent and isolated over this period. L himself honestly did not mind, but was also not surprised when the second-best finally entered the quiet, dark room, silently shutting the door behind him._

"_I killed a squirrel, L."_

_He supposed that this was B's way of saying 'hello'. The boy was like a cat, L thought dryly, killing small animals, ripping them to shreds and then bragging about it later. Roger never caught B doing this and assumed that the bloodied animal carcasses were the work of a fox. As for L, he assumed that there was a 97 percent chance that the younger orphan was only doing this to get attention, and to give him the said attention would only encourage him. However, at the gruesome thought, he couldn't help but say,_

"_Why would you do such a thing, Ryuuzaki?"_

_Stepping very quietly, B pulled up the spare chair and sat next to L, his chin resting on his palms."To see what would happen. You could call it science. Dissection."_

_L sighed, looking up from the file he was reading and gazing levelly at his parasite. "...That kind of behavior will decrease your chances of being chosen for the job that I know you want."_

"_Ah, ha, haha... who cares?" the youth asked crassly, reaching forward to the china plate that held the last bit of the cheesecake, and plucking it without utensils from the dish and into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full. "Killing squirrels isn't illegal."_

"_It is cruel. It is evil."_

_It was a rare occasion that this youth ever sounded angry, but for a moment it was released. "What do you know?"_

"_More than you, evidently."_

_He closed his mouth, quiet again for a moment. L saw him swallow before he opened it again. "...Yes, it's so, isn't it? After all, I'm only 'B'. I know what 'B' actually stands for." _

_A pause._

_L looked away and back to his computer screen. "It stands for your name. Your real one."_

"It stands for Backup._" _

_The words were cold, freezing everything that touched the zephyr of breath. The anger and the hurt rang across the dark room with the haunting vibration of a gong. L felt it, this intangible but pained force pressing against his own chest, and though he stared at the screen the text suddenly seemed foreign to him._

"_So I won't be the best detective," B continued, calm again, as if he had never been upset in the first place. "I will never be better than you like this."_

"_Ryuuzaki," L said slowly, the alias of the younger coming out in a firm tone. "It is useless to look at it in those terms. If you want to be a detective, no one is stopping you. You are very smart, and I'm certain that finding an employer will not be difficult."_

"_It's not about being a detective!" B said, standing up suddenly and kicking the chair back from behind. He pounced forward, turning L's swivel chair around and grabbing his shirt, pulling him upward. The knuckles were so tight that they were white, and the face that looked like a mirror image of L from a distance looked completely different close up. "What I want is..."_

_L was still, not reacting right away as B held him. Instead he watched his doppelganger's face, struggle with emotion while fighting to keep still and passive like his host did. B's eyes glinted a crimson color, and his pale lips parted, mouth working slightly as he seemed too overcome with a thousand words to pick the best in a sentence. Finally, L wrapped his own hands around B's, gently unwinding them from himself. _

"_I'm leaving, you know," B declared then, releasing L. "I've packed a bag and I'm going away. I'm going wherever I want to go."_

_A ragged thumbnail found its way into L's mouth, and he bit at it. "You're only sixteen."_

"_Yes," B smirked. "Are you going to try to stop me?"_

"_..No."_

_He knew that this was not what B wanted to hear, but it was exactly what he wanted to say. B nodded shortly, shoving his entire thumb into his mouth in an effort to mimic L. _Let it gag him_, he thought moodily. _

"_Good," B then declared. "Because I wouldn't have listened anyway."_

"_Then it's good for me, that I didn't waste my time."_

_The computer behind him began to whirr, and L turned back to check the new e-mail message. There was a long wait to be had with dial-up Internet connection, and as the new information was slowly animating, he was forced to look behind at the youth again, who still lingered. _

"_Then..." B finally said. "I'm going."_

"_Okay."_

"_...Are you going to ...say good-bye?"_

"_Good-bye, Ryuuzaki."_

_B looked kicked at this careless tone, his eyes widened and then they narrowed. For a moment, in the glow of the computer monitor, he looked murderous and L automatically flexed his muscles in case B was looking to pick a fight. However, this was another area in which L surpassed the Backup, and though a wrestling match here and now would have been annoying, they both were already aware of what the result would be._

_But nonetheless, B stepped forward, shaky hands raising. This time, the red in his eyes was not from peculiar iris color, but from the stinging rings of tears. This did surprise L, for though B had an unruly tendency to show emotion off and on, one thing he had never done was cried. But his voice was dangerously steady as he announced,_

"_One day, Lawliet, I will beat you. I _will_ be the best, and everyone will notice me...!"_

_The hands shot forward, wrapping tightly around L's neck. L startled, positioning his knees to kick him away while he tried to pry off the hands with his fingers. B, however, leaned his entire body weight forward, between L's legs – chest against chest, waist against waist, nose against nose. Again, L saw that haunting face up close, the Asian ethnicity, the hair that was a shade darker than his own. The tears that had begun to fall, from fury or sadness or frustration, who but B would ever know?_

_And then B's lips were against his own, pressing forward with what felt to L like raw hatred. His movements caught L unguarded and he couldn't fight the tongue that like a needle shot like poison into his own mouth, perhaps in a different consistency but with a equivalent purpose. B was aggressive, moving L's head with his thin fingers to bite into him. L did not struggle, he did not respond, but in his mind he felt that the boy was desperately trying to suck a victory out of the challenge that had evaded him for so long, that had left him in the shadows. _

_When L felt blood begin to bead from his lower lip, which was pierced by teeth, he tightened his fist. It plummeted with a crash into B's unguarded stomach, throwing him back and causing him to break his kiss. B backed up, panting as he wiped loose saliva from his lips with the back of his hand._

"_I do not have time to play games with you, Beyond," L said at last, purposefully hardening his tone. He held up his case file, dangling it between a thumb and a forefinger, shoved closely to the face of the other. "If you seek enlightenment, then look at what I'm doing. Two masked men with guns entered a children's nursery. They asked for ransom, killing three youths immediately to invoke the element of urgency. Then they fled the scene, and escaped pursuit. Now I am trying to find these murderers and bring them to justice."_

_B didn't answer. He stared._

"_You come to me with concerns of overcoming me and taking this position, yet I believe that you could not care less about what it is I'm doing right now, or why. You have your eyes set on one thing, and that is acknowledgment. If that is all you have to say, I don't care. Quit wasting my time and leave."  
_

_B obeyed, for once in his life, probably for L's blatant honesty. He turned and walked to the door, his steps silent against the carpet. His hand turned the doorknob and he opened it, sending a stream of light flashing into the dark room, and he stood in silhouette. L also turned back to his computer screen, suppressing the shiver that was vibrating in his spinal cord. _

"_I wanted to be you..." The words weren't much louder than a whisper. L's keen ears picked up on the sound anyway, though he pretended to ignore again – after all, everyone at Wammy's House knew that already, even the smallest children. Then the door closed, dismissing both light and B until L was empty and alone again._

_For a long time, he sat still. He stared at what was in front of him without being able to read it. The problems were impossible to solve because suddenly he was filled with a feeling he could not define. That was the last time he would ever see Beyond Birthday in the flesh, but the madness of B was still in his mouth. He could taste it, and when he swallowed it submerged inside of him. L could, perhaps, ignore it forever, but parasites are never gone until extermination._

_What he hadn't thought about that day was that B also had the taste of L passed his own lips, and that to him it was also a disease which he would never forget._

"Nothing is more gratifying to the mind of man than power or dominance." -Joseph Addison

The buzzing of world news on the television screen lurked into L's ears with the itchy feeling of ants crawling on skin. Flashes of news reporters entered his brain from the furthermost corners of his eyes. Though he had been watching passively while he sat in the middle of his fortress of computers, actively using three of the twenty, he was primarily focused on the sound of Light's footsteps coming toward him, and the sight of his forcefully blank face that made the adolescent seem even more grim than if he simply showed his emotion honestly.

Of course, it wasn't like Light Yagami to do anything honestly.

"Light-kun," L announced, paging through a stack of files that marked the purpose of his summoning the prisoner. "This is a rape-murder that was just reported yesterday, involving three victims from the Las Vegas area of Nevada."

"Three victims? What, they were all found at the same time?"

"Do not interrupt me. No. The bodies of Haily Newman and Kristen Robancho were a year ago and five months ago respectively, but the newest body, Stephanie Dommer, was discovered by police just yesterday morning. The first two were initially treated as unrelated murders, however, considering that all three bodies share a similar profile and method of murder, we are now looking at a serial killer."

L handed a manila folder of papers that had been faxed over to Light, who curled his arms upward at the elbows to carry them – the best he could do out here with his wrists chained. His lips curled slightly as he accepted the package in a way that was difficult to interpret. A smirk, a false half-smile, or perhaps simple acknowledgment that was habitual courtesy stemming from the way that he was raised. It was his eyes that were more revealing: a frozen-earth cold kind of brown, eyeballs reflecting too perfectly the wintry white snow from outside the window.

This masked agitation wasn't new, actually Light had been particularly edgy for days now. Before, his attitude was generally a calm and almost lazy caricature, as though he was completely apathetic to the situation and accepted it as the best he was going to get after his mass murdering enterprise. Now lately, Light had reverted back to frigid moodiness, ever since the time that they had played draughts. Even without being the best detective in the world, L could deduce that it wasn't just the fact that he had lost. He had been offended, and not being in a position to complain, was resorting to speaking only when he had something snide to say and scowling.

L was aware that it only made about 5 percent sense to purposefully heckle the brunette (the five percent was the satisfaction that he got out of it, next to the 95 percent that was making things unnecessarily heated between them.) Then there was the fact that when Light was around...

"Those files have the police's list of suspects to date, as well as additional lists of the people closest to each victim and the ones that they had contact with in the weeks before their deaths. What you'll be looking for is common ground, some kind of connection between all three."

Light looked bored. "Obviously. Is that all?"

The teenager had the unfortunate ability to radiate everything in his soul that he wanted made known to the world, as though he were some divine being shining on a pedestal. Therefore, L felt as though he was absorbing Light's bad mood, and felt irritation in turn with the young criminal. The problem was that even after these months of confinement, he refused to genuinely submit to L's authority, though he pretended to, and the result was two alpha wolves stalking around the same territory.

Incidentally, some of the irritation that Light was bringing out in him came from his own self.

"That is all." L proceeded to revert his attention back to his own work, but in another burst of cataclysm he knew that he wouldn't be able to focus until he heard Light's footsteps exit into the hallway. He waited, counting, but the sound of dismissal was lacking, and finally he turned back to see Light still standing there.

Not that Light was looking at him. His frosty irises were snapped elsewhere, landing sharply on the television screen where the news program was still playing, and in his slender fingers he had found the remote control. The slab of black plastic and buttons pointed at the machine, increasing the volume until it was ringing in L's ears.

"_Where is Kira?_" the well-dressed announcer asked in brisk, professional tone, holding her microphone like schoolchildren hold flashlights when telling ghost stories. "_This question has been haunting the world for months, with victim rate decreasing into the level that researchers are branding as 'normal'. The mystery of who and what exactly Kira was raises further inquiries-_"

"Leave it, Yagami-kun," L commanded. "You have work to do."

But Light did not move, not because he did not notice L. He seemed even more enchanted after what was apparently only L's request than before.

"_There has been no public statement from Interpol nor the detective known only as 'L' about resolution to the case. All that we know is that the person – or thing – dubbed the Supernatural Killer has ceased in activity. Around the world there have been crowds of protesters, both supporting and against Kira, to almost uncontrollable lengths. Today I am here in Japan, where last year L made an announcement via television the original Kira resides_."

Light exhaled quietly, studying the screen with a ferocious intensity.

"You know, I didn't expect you to actually fall for that one," L commented carelessly, chewing on a fingernail. "I did already analyze Kira as someone incredibly immature, but you played along more perfectly than I had hoped for."

"Shut up," Light snapped, throwing him a cutting glare before turning back.

"You killed Lind L. Taylor so quickly," L taunted, remembering the script he had written for the death row criminal to read while posing under his alias. "How... evil."

"He said he was going to go after me. That was only self-defense. I never condoned killing anyone because they disagreed with me, so quit trying to make me out as the bad guy here."

"But Yagami-kun is the bad guy."

"You never had any problem with letting him speak in the first place!" Light hissed. "If you knew he was going to die then it's your fault as much as mine."

"_I have with me Teru Mikami, a graduating law student and member of a pro-Kira group centered here in Tokyo._" Next to the reporter was a young, dark-haired man with black framed glasses and a business suit. "_Mr. Mikami, what is it about Kira that you are drawn to?_"

"_The pure execution of justice_," the man answered briskly, straightening his tie. "_Kira is successfully accomplishing what the government has failed, and that's to protect the innocent and punish the wicked. When we look at the decreased crime rate, this isn't even an argument, it is a fact._"

"_Mr. Mikami, I find it ironic that you are such an avid supporter of vigilante justice when you are a law student._"

"_It should not be ironic. Kira is not opposing the law, he is encouraging it by sentencing those who break it where our law enforcement has been lax. I value order, Ms. Kensington, and that is what Kira offers._"

"_What about the chance that some alleged criminals are, in fact, innocent? Or the chance at redemption?"_

"_I do not believe that Kira has made any mistakes in his judgments."_

"Kira's groupies are as cruel as he is," L decided coolly, turning around fully to gaze at Light through his own darkened eyes. "Look at what you've done to the world."

Light murmured, repeating softly. "Look what I've done." Then he chuckled under his breath, something that sounded like jagged ice where frost lingered instead of humor. "So people haven't forgotten so quickly."

The detective rested his hands on his knees, speaking in an identical dangerously soft tone. "No, the terrorist who held the world ransom will be fresh in everyone's memory for awhile yet."

"The people out there, Kira challenged a revolution into their hearts," Light said steadily, pointing behind at the television with a long finger. "These people have dared to think outside of what is social conformity and look somewhere where a truer answer to their troubles might lie."

"There are reasons why these things have become socially conformed. Your conscience has been retarded by years of arrogance, and evidently you've lost the ability to discern this."

"There are _reasons_ why these people worship me!"

At that moment, L's cynicism overtook his patience and he stood up. If he had indeed been an alpha male wolf his fangs would have been bared, but as it was he crunched his teeth down on the lollipop he had been sucking on. "Do you still think you're a god? All you are is a teenage schoolboy in handcuffs. You are a mortal who will only find freedom in his own death."

Light's glare was like hot irons, burning through not only the ice of his expression but the overlying aura of winter. "Sure, you got me, L. But Kira is something that not even you could lock up. Look at that!"

"Ah, your loyal followers," he shrugged in return. "They will forget about you the moment more exciting news comes along, such is the attention span of the world. After all, Kira is dead, who will be there to redeem their faith?"

L knew that his words must have stung Light by suggesting that the 'righteous' cause he had thrown his life away for was ultimately a waste of time. As such, the teenager's face shifted from anger to raw frustration. His fists were clenched, and if he hadn't had his hands full of papers L concluded that there was a forty percent chance that he might have, at this moment, punched him. "What the hell do you know, you egotistic-"

"_Mr. Yagami._"

Watari stood in the doorway, his withered voice booming above the ruckus and reducing the two young men to surprised silence. The old man strode forward, grabbing Light's arm and turning him toward himself.

"You are to conduct your behavior with the utmost humility and respect. I do not want to witness any more impudent remarks out of you, or _God help me._"

The sentence ended there with an open-ended threat, and L couldn't help but recognize the twisted feeling in his stomach that Watari's reprimands were definitely not going to improve Light's callous mood. As expected, the teenager's heated fury cooled into arctic hatred as he nodded.

"Enough of this nonsense," Watari went on, seizing the remote and turning off the television. "You are going back to work."

With that, Light was pulled toward the door. The proud youth would have none of that, though, and he jerked ahead of the old man and stomped away quite willingly to his room. This was a teenage temper tantrum at its finest.

L exhaled the stale breath he had been holding and turned his gaze toward Monitor 17. Though his nerves were still calming, he was drawn to Light in the dangerous way that flies were drawn to honey. On the screen he saw Watari standing at the door as the youth slammed his papers down on the desk, and then turned coldly back to the old man as he proceeded to give, what looked like, a lecture.

The detective decided against turning on the volume, and instead licked at his candy for the motivation to go back to his own work.

Watari returned a few minutes later, and though L did not look, he knew that the old man would be bearing a tray of much needed coffee and sugar cubes. He approached him from behind, setting the tray on the ground beside him before clearing his throat.

"Ryuuzaki, I will be leaving for the airport at about four in the morning tomorrow..."

L pretended to be reading over a report. "Yes, I know."

The older detective sighed. L imagined he was rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, that was what he usually did upon exasperation. Then he crouched down, something that probably ceased being good for his back years ago, and poured the detective a cup of the coffee, and then one for himself. He sat on the ground, losing his prim and proper normal posture and instead reflecting something reminiscent of his past years as an ambitious young inventor and detective.

"Thanks, Watari."

He would be leaving early, and he wouldn't arrive in Germany for about sixteen hours. The normal flight, straight from New York City would not take nearly so long, but L and Watari specifically arranged their flights to be roundabout for security reasons and to avoid tails.

L reached to the bowl of sugar cubes and filled his hand with them, balancing them on top of his steaming coffee before dropping them one by one into the liquid. He thought a moment, and then took a sip. When it wasn't sip enough he frowned, looking down into the drink, then removed the lollipop from his mouth and stuck what was left of it into the cup. When the coffee was satisfactory, he spoke.

"Addressing Interpol in person will be a good thing, I think. They trust you more than me, you know, since they actually see you."

Watari chuckled at that. "No, no human, especially not politicians, trusts another human. I only represent you."

"Aren't I human?"

"You're a ghost for all the world knows."

The words, for whatever reason, sent a chill through the detective. He quickly gulped a mouthful of the sweetened hot drink. "That's true, isn't it."

What he wanted to say was _not all the world_. It had been... odd, to say the least, showing his face with the title of 'L' simultaneously for the first time with the Japanese National Police Agency. It was unusual to work with comrades so close to him, it was atypical to talk to people face-to-face. He had been in Tokyo with the police for almost a year, so perhaps it was understandable that he had eventually... adjusted. What it was, and what it had become - a number of things, he supposed. Dangerous, inconvenient, efficient. And nice, sometimes, nice. Regardless, that chapter had concluded. The enterprise of the Kira investigation was finished, and the shackles of cooperation were gone. L was far from emotionally distraught, after all, he had brought the gem of it all back with him.

When L's eyes darted almost of their own will toward Monitor 17, Watari noticed.

"It's not too late to arrange a place to keep him while I'm away."

"That's unnecessary."

"Ryuuzaki, now is not the time to make silly mistakes."

L look at him pointedly. "Is me making a silly mistake a major concern of yours?"

With the kind of gentle strength that it seemed only someone with sixty years under his belt could muster, Watari sipped his own cup of coffee. "I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. I also have the utmost confidence in his."

"If something happens, I will take responsibility for my actions. There, are you happy now?" L challenged, feeling particularly immature.

"I'm not insinuating that you aren't being careful," Watari said, standing up. "I raised you to be meticulous. My concern is that your attitude toward him is not completely professional."

L did not answer. Unlike with Light, winning an argument with Watari did not involve getting in the last word, contrarily, it was about finding something more important to do. Not that the work he had been doing was terribly important, but these things were all about perception.

Watari sighed again. "Well then, take care."

"_We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies." -Thomas Dekker_

A day went by, and another. Another._  
_

Isolation was nothing new for L. He preferred minimal distractions when he was working, even when it came to his proxy and partner, Quillsh Wammy. Despite their association, L and Watari ordinarily spent more time apart than together, as the professional side to their relationship did not require close contact, in fact, demanded that it remain minimal as Watari acted as L's field agent. It wasn't as though he did not genuinely enjoy his companion's company, it was simply that he was completely indifferent to the seclusion that he had been made accustomed to his whole life. His ability to lurk in the shadows undetected was what had made him the top three detectives in the world (and then some), and inevitably, with that kind of power and responsibility came seclusion - the stony law against getting close to anyone who might become your downfall.

Breaking that rule once was probably far too many.

Not that he saw much of Light over the next few days, at least not in the flesh. Instead, the brunette spent most of his time in his room, managing to appear legitimately busy over Monitor 17. L was clearly being avoided, and stubbornly he decided that if Light was going to act like he was seven then he was free to, as long as he did his work. Let the cat mope around, for L certainly wasn't going to feed it. And when Light decided to give it up, then they could play games again.

Or when he ran out of ways to look busy.

"Eric Johnson is the killer," Light declared, standing in the door frame.

L did not turn his eyes away from Monitor 11 where he was watching a recording of Lisa Hallet's testimony for the third time. "Do you know that, or are you guessing?"

"I know it."

The steel in the youth's tone made L sigh in apprehension. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard to pause the video file, and then looked to Light behind him. A notebook of papers was in his hands, and the detective eyed it and held out his hand. "Is that your irrefutable evidence?"

There was no movement besides the simple raising of his arms into the air, offering the package with his feet planted and no indication that he had any intention of moving. When L raised his eyebrows, he said, "You'll have to come get it. Watari says he'll shoot me on sight if I go into this room without being escorted by him."

"Please don't be childish, Yagami-kun. I'm not going to exert the effort to stand up and walk to you."

"It's ludicrous to suggest that exercising caution in dangerous territory is an indicator of social immaturity."

"Yagami-kun, it's ludicrous to deny the request of the one in control of your custody."

"You're _requesting _me to commit suicide." Light shrugged and dangled the paper in his hands. "I would sooner procure your wrath than terminate what's left of my life."

"Those factors have a positive – not a negative – correlation, you know, so consider them accordingly." L answered with a mostly repressed growl of exasperation. "You're wasting my time. Either be serious about punishing crime, or don't, it's your choice."

Light's arms fell back down in front of him. A sharp glint hardened in his irises, infection a previously indifferent expression into something grim. With tightened jaw and narrowed eyelids, he strode forward until he planted his files into the outstretched hand of the detective.

L took the notebook in his pinched fingers. Inside the thin cardboard casing, Light had scribed pages of notes in handwriting that was still neat and disciplined, despite the handicap he faced with the handcuffs. Upon immediate glance, L noticed that instead of cutting and taping pictures and exerts from the hard copies of the case files Watari had given him, Light had made reference notes. Testimonies of the three suspects, accounts of witnesses, forensics data, even records of a car hijacking... it went on for at least fifty notebook pages in, until finally, the youth and scribbled in the middle of the page 'ERIC JOHNSON'.

It was thorough, and nothing that did not meet with L's expectations. But it was ultimately incomplete.

"Insufficient evidence," he finally declared, setting the notebook down on the ground.

"What?"

"No sensible jury will convict the man with this. You're using an account of a four year old child, you're rejecting a very plausible alibi and one of your points is 'personality'." The darkening of Light's face was more than obvious, but L knew that this was an issue they would have to address eventually, so it might as well be today.

"Johnson raped and murdered a thirteen year old girl in 1998. And you're telling me that my claim of 'personality' is unfounded?"

"He was tried back then and found not guilty, Yagami-kun. According to the United States' Constitution, the court cannot use that against him."

"He was guilty then and he is guilty now," Light proclaimed. "And if you allow him to go free he will be guilty again. How is it so impossible to accept?"

L's eyes met with Light's. With a calm strength he responded. "I have no doubt that he's guilty. You do not need to prove this to me. If you want him convicted, convince the jury instead, because Johnson will be innocent until proven guilty."

The tenor voice elevated in ferocity. "Are you kidding? It could take months to find enough evidence to make it obvious to a crew of idiots that there's no way this bastard is innocent! This is a completely inefficient use of my time! "

"I spent a year on you, Yagami-kun. I knew by instinct that you were guilty just a month into my investigation. By that reasoning I should have arrested you immediately."

While the detective reached his fork in the direction of the red velvet cake he had been picking passively at, Light's eyes became dangerously fiery. The fork stopped halfway to its destination and retreated when pale hands clenched into fists. He set the fork down.

"You could have, huh?" Light murmured, slow at first but then accelerating like an outlet for his frustrations. "Any time you felt like it, you could've arrested me. Because you're L, and you control Interpol."

"In a way," L answered, because it was a bit more complicated than that.

"Then _you _do it! Tell the state of Nevada that Johnson is the murderer! You know it's true,_everyone _knows it's true! They'll accept your word without another thought!"

L felt himself callous, and he stood up on his feet so that he was not looking up at Light. "I'm not going to do that. I don't make public judgments until I have substantial proof, this is why Light-kun was free for as long as he was."

"People like you are the reason that the world is rotting! You could do something to stop evil, but you won't – because it doesn't_ entertain you_ enough!"

The youth was shouting in his face, but L was not about to retreat a step. "I value justice through the law. To use my influence to rid someone of their law-given right to trial is a sacrifice to my own ethics."

"Suddenly you're concerned about ethics?! Throughout the entire Kira investigation you were making the most unethical advances, which includes involuntary incarceration and arrest without trial in the case of Misa Amane-"

Firmly, L chose to start speaking before Light could conclude. "That was a matter of international security and it was urgent, and is not applicable to your current case."

"Ethics should be applicable to everything. You were willing to do whatever it takes to capture me, and how is killing for justice _worse _than killing for sick pleasure?"

"Because you were a vigilante and a rebel. Johnson only tried to hide from the system, but _you _challenged it altogether."

Suddenly, Light reached forward and grabbed the collar of L's shirt, twisting it in his hands and pulling forward. It was an aggressive move, and L's initial instinct was to uppercut the youth in the jaw. However, he deduced that with his hands bound, he was in no proper position to make a successful strike. Light rarely acted without expectations of some kind of success, so for L to make an effort at unnecessary retaliation was a waste of energy.

"I challenged only the inefficiency. The justice system was fallible and imperfect, and people were suffering for it!" Light snarled. "Day after day, people were suffering for it! Eric Johnson is guilty!"

L felt himself bristle, seeing the face of Kira before him. He hooked his hands around Light's, wrapping them around the palms. Constricting the grip, he forced the young criminal's hands to loosen. "Do not talk about people suffering when you caused so much of it."

"That's what I've been talking about this whole time!" he snapped, slamming his elbows downward to free them of L's grip, while simultaneously twisting his fingers to control L's hands. "People suffering is the reason that Kira exists!"

"Existed," L corrected tartly. "How much suffering did you dissipate by triggering chaos in a preordained judicial system, Kira? A vigilante stands for revolution, not for peace."

"Yes, how much suffering did I dissipate by lowering the crime rate by a consistent 44 percent worldwide and rising?"

Getting annoyed, L used one hand to snatch the short length of chain in between the cuffs and yank down to detach Light from his shirt, upsetting the youth's balance in the process. "In the end, all humans value the authority of stable law over the authority of idealistic terrorists. When in a year, Kira is only a name in a textbook, you will see it is so."

"God, let _go_!" Light growled, in reference to the detective clutching his handcuffs. L had twisted the short coil of chains around his hand and reduced the length to nothing, pinning the rings around Light's wrists together. When he had pulled downward, the youth had been forced to bend over, almost as though he were bowing to his captor. He tugged violently at his hands, but L did not loosen up. "In the end, people value their lives, and _that's_ what Kira promised them by disposing of murderers!"

"Kira is a petulant child who promises nothing except to dissipate some boredom for us all," L answered plainly. "But for what my word is worth, I compliment you on a job well done."

"_Let go_!" Following the words was the sole of Light's bare foot, pushing into L's stomach. The move was probably not meant to be aggressive as much as a practical maneuver to knock L back and wrench his hands free – at least, more free than they currently were. Nonetheless, frustration at his adversary's words powered the kick and a mildly surprised L was knocked a few steps back and released his hold.

The adolescent's facial features widened when he seemed to realize that the movement defied the vow of subservience he had sworn to L. Then it stiffened again – he was passed regretting any action he took. "You deserved it," he stated decidedly to excuse the behavior.

The action itself might have been forgivable but the words themselves were thoroughly out of place. L took advantage of the space between them by dropping his upper body and slamming his hands against the floorboards. In response to the movement, like a set of scales, L's right foot sprung up into the air and collided in a high front kick underneath Light's jaw.

"You do not have the right to judge what other people do and do not deserve," L said firmly.

Light started immediately. "Kira is-"

"There must be trials by law, where everyone has a chance to explain themselves and a chance at redemption. Just how many guiltless people have you slaughtered, Kira? How many people who could rehabilitate and enter society as productive law-abiding citizens?"

Light recovered quickly, and his hands flew into the air, curled into fists. It was obvious that Light was at a disadvantage because normally in a fist fight, one hand should be used for offense and one chambered for defense and recoiling punches. But no one would call Light easily daunted. His knuckles flew forward and slammed into L's stomach. "That _bullshit_ is all nice words, but you can talk all day and you'll never solve the problem!"

L doubled forward from the blow, but he took advantage of the placement and he again grabbed the chain between Light's wrists that was jammed into his gut. With one hand he pulled, jeopardizing the stability of Light's position. The other hand again clashed against the floor. Again, his leg blasted into the air, but now it made impact with the right side of Light's ribcage. With his hands preoccupied, the youth could not block the blow. The force of the kick knocked his feet off-balance, and when L pulled on the chain again, his body flipped and fell – landing on his back on the floor.

"There is a fallacy in your reasoning that you are consistently ignoring," L remarked, looking down at the eighteen-year-old. "The same amount of crime will exist in your ideal world, even if it is concentrated into a single evil entity – _the Killer_."

The English pronunciation of 'Kira', in which the name was originally constructed from, invoked a murderous expression from the teenager. He made his rage quite clear when his foot shot out at the detective's knee, snapping into it dangerously and sending L tumbling down right beside him.

"It's so easy for someone like you to complain when you're safely off the ground twenty stories in a concrete fortress," he snarled. "But between the two of us, which one actually made the streets safer for innocent people?"

L felt his upper lip curl back slightly, the lust for battle inherent in every young man hissing out in a competitive snatch for the most pride. "Perhaps you charmed your cancer into the crime rate for a _temporary_ submission, but..."

Light tried to dodge before the blow came, but L grabbed his shoulders and drove him close. There was a moment of flailing on Light's part as L shifted his legs and then drove his uninjured knee up into Light's unprotected stomach.

"...when it comes down to it, it's always an _eye for an eye!_" L finished through gritted teeth.

The brunette recoiled, clutching his abused gut for a brief second. He took a breath and then it was as though he had never felt better. The knuckles of his rocketing hands rammed into L's nose, leaving a pretty immediate trail of blood spattering down behind.

"You say that but you claim to not understand Kira!" Light spat, not finished yet. He swung his knuckles for another blow. "An eye for an eye!"

L caught his wrists by turning his head, body sideways, and latching on as they jetted into nothingness. He pulled, and Light resisted, and through their struggles they glared daggers at one another. They were both fuming and the air practically tasted of bitter smoke, emitting from two heated bodies. When blood from his nose began to reach his lip, reminding him of the damage, L leaned back with Light's wrist and twisted his arm, making his opponent awkward in his position on his knees.

Light squatted to accommodate and spare the jolting pain of limbs turned the wrong way and leaned sideways to reduce the pressure. That moment of instability was what L was waiting for – he forced Light's arms upward above his head and pounced forward, tackling Light on the chest and ramming him down into the floorboards. He exhaled in a pant as he tried to overpower the younger male's kicking and arching, but just to taunt he leaned his face as close as he could to Light's.

"You've been moping, but if you really got what you deserved-" He spoke through clenched teeth as Light writhed violently underneath him. "-then you would be blind."

The words seemed to give Light the mad exhilaration he needed to lift a thigh and plunge his kneecap into L's ribs in a bout of flexibility that was usually uncommon for him. The hit tossed L's leverage, and Light freed half of his body. Planting his foot on the ground he sprung up from under L, managing to punch the detective again and slam his own weight on L.

Light didn't have two hands to use freely but he took advantage of the chain in between the cuffs, sinking it roughly into L's neck to keep him down as he spread his body on top with the effort of taking the pin. L saw the fury resonating in his face, and blood oozing out of his lower lip where his teeth must've caught it during the scuffle.

"You say you're a genius but you're already _blind_ to what I was trying to do!" Light declared. "If only you'd open your eyes a little-"

A hardened palm found its way under Light's jaw, muffling the words with a pained _oof!_ while L maneuvered out from underneath. He liberated his chest before his legs, which Light had seen fit to disable by wrapping his own around L's thighs.

"That kind of idealism is a waste of time, why don't you take a look at reality for a change and stop deluding yourself!"

An elbow nestled itself fiercely in Light's chest.

"Why don't _you _start taking a look at the facts you're trying so hard to ignore!"

Light punched, again, a _thud _sounding against L's skull.

"What – I could say the same about you, Yagami-kun!"

Then, they were quite literally beyond words, with an enormous oversupply of testosterone between the pair of them. At the back of his mind, L was fully aware that this aggression had been regressed in both of them for far too long, and because of a mutual desire to keep the peace for separate reasons they had both let it bottle up into this bruising result. In retrospect, these minutes of release were healthy for their one-of-a-kind relationship, when both parties were so adjusted to deceiving the other that the honesty was adrenaline in their veins, pumping throughout their muscles to make the other give in. The grievances of their bodies against each other was habitually familiar, acquainted to one another during months of both companionship and antagonism, even when - _especially_ when - their knuckles were pounding into the other's skin.

The fists were flying until it stopped mattering what exactly they were fighting over.

L had managed to roll on top of Light, pin him down sloppily by the throat and raise a hand to hit him across the face when suddenly–

**BEEP. BEEP.**

The urgent digital sound projected from a computer, whirring like a siren. L froze without even blinking, and under him Light slowly lowered the hands that had been shielding his head from attack. The detective took a moment to breathe, breathe his way back into reality, until he calmed the adrenaline from the wrestling and was fully able to discern what was going on. The process took less than a second, and he made the deduction:

Something was wrong.

He scrambled off of Light and on to his feet, running across the floor at phenomenal speed and sinking his way on a pillow in front of the monitor that emitted the sound. It was Wammy's distress signal, which he only used in cases of emergencies. It was 18:00, he should be at one of the Interpol meetings. Which meant...

L and Watari, as an institution, had access to the finest technology in the world. But even so L was painfully aware that his older partner was in Berlin, and to receive this radio waves by satellite would still provide for a lapse when every second was crucial. When L pulled up a browser in e-mail format, he was directly connected to the video cameras – on in front, one in back – attached directly on to Watari's large black coat. Theoretically, L would be able to see more than the proxy himself if he was approached at any direction, but then again, there was the time lapse to account for.

"What's going on?" Light asked, approaching cautiously from behind.

He raised a hand in a hushing motion and continued to watch the screen, holding his own breath to keep sound in. It was quiet on the monitor as he loaded the split screens of the Berlin Interrelations Center, fuzzy, and then L saw people. He immediately took hold of his mouse and zoomed in on the faces – nicely dressed Interpol members, wearing black suits, dress shirts and ... terrified expressions on their faces.

"_Testing connection_," a scrambled, computerized version of Watari's voice gruffed, sounding strained even under the disguise.

"Confirmed," L answered into his microphone.

"_There's a crisis. An undetermined number of men broke passed security and are holding this meeting hostage. They are armed, and they are hostile_."

"_Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is." -Albert Camus_

Armonia Jastin Beyondllemason strode on his long, bony legs across the gray dirt of the Shinigami realm. His decorated feet would land with a soft _crunch_ under the fog as they collided with the ground, crushing all the old bones and dry things that littered the area. The sky was dark, lit only by an eerie green light that marked the time in this place at about dusk, in equivalence to the human world, and after a long day of gambling, this glimmering death god had no care to glance at what he destroyed along his journey. If one could call it a journey, anyway. He did what he did every night after the lazy Shinigami dispatched to sleep or eat (both things unnecessary for gods). Armonia Jastin Beyondllemason wandered the dead world for junk, for anything that might appear as waste from the other worlds. It was particularly gems that he was interested in, which he adorned flauntingly upon his dull-hued body, and they glittered as a rainbow of color in the lifeless grays of the realm. This earned him his nickname of Jastin the Jeweled Skeleton.

Sometimes, other Shinigami would find them, and they would gamble for the winnings. But not many of his fellows were interested in wandering so far out into the fog as Jastin was, some were too lazy to even stand up in a day. But this kept Jastin busy, who still had a mild interest for exploring. In these junk areas, one could find human garbage. Old, rotting fruit which somehow grew into old, rotting fruit trees. Clothes, money, other useless things that on occasion amused the Shinigami enough to keep, or at least snicker and gossip over.

Jastin's skull head turned slightly in a creaking of bones as he moved his gaze toward a putrid odor. There was a puddle of some greasy black liquid, looking as foul as it smelled. Waste, waste. It had been awhile since Jastin had bothered to look into the Dimensional Spheres and observe the human world, but he had a vague recollection of men and women putting this stuff into their tanks to make them run, or however it worked. Oil, maybe? Gasoline? Whatever.

Ugly. Jastin wanted something colorful. He craved it more than the preservation of any other vital function in his peculiar being. He would sooner have something beautiful than waste his time hunting for lifespans when he already (probably) had plenty of time stored up.

The Shinigami crept further, passing the stale old things. Clocks, which he didn't know how to read, televisions, which didn't work for whatever reasons, glass shards, shreds of fabrics, and bones, always bones. Bones that almost felt like dust when they were stomped – could be an old lazy Death God for all Jastin knew, or for all he cared, which was nothing.

"Hmm..." The green in the sky was fading, turning into a more encompassing midnight black. With less light to reflect against his gems, Jastin was becoming duller. What an annoying time.

He stepped forward, turning the corner around a large rock which did for a landmark in this place, when suddenly, suddenly he saw them. There they were! Two perfectly red jewels, glowing beautifully in the distance, cutting the way through the fog.

Jastin set out at a run, a victorious rumble of laughter exiting through his mouth. This was the moment when he knew he existed, this was the greatest. Where would he put these new red jewels? Time would be needed to examine them, and choose the perfect place. And why not, he had all the time in the world.

"They're mine! I found... what?" Upon getting closer, Jastin realized these were not jewels, they were a pair of eyes. More than that, they were attached to a body, and more specifically, on a pale face. The skeletal god scratched the top of his skull as he peered down at the body. "Hey, you're not what I was hoping for."

The thin, naked creature watched Jastin with a blank expression. "That's what they always say," it answered in a voice that wasn't as deep as the other Shinigami. In fact, it was very soft and light.

"When you hide here, you can't really blame the mistakes," he reprimanded, still rather disappointed. He hunched over slightly to better get a look at the being, sitting down with its skinny legs curled upright. Its eyes were as bright as ever, even though the clouds were darkening by the second. Jastin frowned. "Don't you know? There's a big group of us down that way-" here, he raised the bones of his finger, pointing from where had had come from. "-so if you come, you can gamble with us."

The creature just watched Jastin for a moment, blinking those wide, ruby eyes. Watching it like that, Jastin wondered if it would be willing to gamble those lovely eyes, even though they were not gems he had a desire for them.

"Gambling with the Shinigami, how grand," the being muttered, still with face like a statue. "Maybe the gods are laughing at me."

"Hey, I wasn't laughing," Jastin argued, confused. "You coming or what?"

But then this creature, it was the one who started laughing. It clutched its legs tighter, its whole back vibrating as the howls of laughter escaped its mouth. "Isn't it funny!" it shrieked.

A realization dawned upon the Jeweled Skeleton. "Oh, I get it. You're not a Shinigami, are you?"

The laughter died down into little chuckles, falling haphazardly out of his mouth. "I can't see your name, I can't see your number."

Jastin scratched his head again, unsure. "Well, I don't have those things. I thought you were the same, though you're pretty ugly for a Shinigami. What are you then? Garbage from another world? I don't think you'll last long in this place."

"I don't know why I'm here at all. Maybe there really are shards of a Death God in me after all."

"That doesn't make sense. You're a human, aren't you?"

"What is my identity? The human is _dead.._!" The red eyes glinted, irises rolling slowly over to where they hooked on the jeweled skeleton, catching his face in a way that Jastin could only think was unsettling. "But maybe I'm here because the seeds of something else were planted... I suppose... _before I even had a birthday_..."

-

_To Be Continued. . ._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1. Wow, see, I don't always wait 29 months to update my stories.

2. Jastin the Jeweled Skeleton appears in volume 8 of the manga.

3. This chapter is dedicated to Heath Ledger. On the (near future) day when I become a multi-billionaire I'm planning on directing a (better than the existing ones) Death Note movie and casting him in it. He could've played like, any part of the cast, because of his sheer awesome. Maybe Aiber, you know, he'd make a sexy Aiber. I'm terribly distraught that this will never happen. So, this chapter is for him. :-(

4. (replacement Aiber ideas would be good to hear, for my (near future) movie.)

Thanks for reading!


	7. Heaven and the Other Way

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: _Death Note_ is still Ohba and Obata's story, not mine.

**Heaven and the Other Way  
**

* * *

_It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,  
It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,  
It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness  
It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair  
We were all going to Heaven  
We were all going direct the other way.  
_ -A tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

The situation was vague. Light had not even known that Watari was gone, but now that it was divulged he immediately surmised that it didn't matter as far as his own situation went. Even if he fought with L again and, hypothetically, killed him, he was still locked in this place and whatever people L had on his side would proceed to execute him. No, now was the time to cooperate, there was no other logical course of action. As such, Light intended to work for L's trust, just as L expected him to.

Watari spoke in soft, hushed tones that sounded more robotic through the computer's speakers than humanoid. The old man also would stop mid-sentence when apparently someone was watching him and resort to transmitting a digital beeping sound that made for Morse code to complete his thoughts. It took Light a moment to adjust to the scrambled messages, but he did so with perked attention. He listened intently behind L, who hadn't said a word to him nor made any indication that Light had to leave.

"_The building was infiltrated-_" A series of beeps, and straining to recall, Light made out, _fifteen minutes ago, six men seen so far_. There was a brief intermission before, "_Intentions are unclear_."

"The building should be equipped with cameras?" L asked in a steeled voice.

The affirmative answer came in beeps: _yes_, followed by, "_More than usual_."

"Won't they be cut?" Light asked helpfully. When the detective turned to look at him in the corner of his darkened ebony eyes, Light continued before L had the chance to send him away. "You'd have to be pretty stupid to infiltrate an Interpol meeting without any kind of defensive actions. We should assume that if these people were able to get passed security with firearms then they aren't complete idiots."

L answered while his fingers sped across his keyboard. Already he was looking for contacts, anyone else in the area to consult that would provide him with multiple perspectives. "It's too early to assume anything at this point. We do not know who this is or what their intentions are, furthermore, security and cameras are generally doubled during these meetings. If there is any chance that I can get video footage now, I want it."

He shrugged, still standing behind L as the detective made brisk communication with his older partner. Details continued to be vague, which in itself was a clue: it indicated that Watari was worried that he was being watched. Light was certain that this would always be a general precaution wherever the elderly man went, considering his highly confidential line of work. But that did not suggest that the terrorists were not observing the hostages, and L was right about one thing – nothing could be assumed, but all possibilities had to be examined thoroughly and with haste. If the old agent's identity of Watari was exposed, then the terrorists might specifically target him as the greatest threat and a connection to L.

Through the gritty feed that Watari's own cameras was providing, L and Light both tensed as they saw across the room a tall man, disguised in a suit, who clearly was wielding a silver object that could only be a handgun considering the distance that the Interpol officers were avoiding him. Apart from that, Light couldn't see any other of the supposed group, but Watari was keeping very still. With the limited visuals, however, Light conjectured that one man alone had not subdued this entire crowd.

"Where are the security guards, Watari?"

There was no answer for a moment, until a temperate voice finally responded, "_I believe that these are the security guards_."

"That means," Light started again, "that this was a planned operation."

"That's been obvious for awhile," L refuted sullenly. "What's more useful to know is precisely how long it has been planned. Ultimately, we need to ensure the safety of the maximum number of hostages possible and then assault, neutralize the threat and capture the leader, if they have one. Watari, will you be able to separate yourself from the hostages undetected?"

"_Yes._"

"Then do so. If the cameras are cut then they won't be able to spot you, anyway. I know you're armed but I don't want you in a position where you have to kill anyone, let's avoid publicity. I should like to know what language the terrorists speak primarily, please find out if possible."

"How long is the camera footage stored in computer memory? Because if-"

"Light-kun," L interrupted without turning around. "If you are going to help me then sit down and make yourself useful. It's annoying to have you standing there telling me what to do, so you may use Monitor 9."

His heart skipping a beat at this good luck, Light confirmed. "Monitor..?"

"The one to my left."

Light found himself pausing for a moment in uncertainty, after L had so vehemently denied him the use of computers or Internet access. Why was he offering all of the sudden? After all, even if Light probably wouldn't be able to escape from going on the computer, and the gods knew what kind of security L had set up, he was certain that he would quickly be able to contact his father when the detective wasn't looking. It was a fragile balance that called for a level of trust that it was obvious L didn't have in him, as he had no reason to. Was he simply going to assume that Light wouldn't try anything that might worsen his situation in the long run?

Upon that pause, L shifted to look at him face-to-face, his face giving away no answers underneath unruly bangs of raven hair. "I feel that if Light-kun works with me, we'll do really well."

When Light finally seated himself on his knees at the computer beside L, he felt a pang of reminiscence. For a few minutes it felt awkward, the an embarrassing caricature of the memory of when he and L had actually worked as partners to capture the third Kira, Higuchi. Light had forfeited his knowledge of the Death Note and they had remained lost for the entire summer and into the fall. It had been months of long days that they had... worked together, side by side. Obviously, those conditions were much different, even Light himself was _different_, and subsequently, L was also different.

But nothing would change the fact that he was still Light Yagami and Ryuuzaki was still L. And if he pushed his own feelings aside, Light could objectively deduce that there were few challenges that such a team could not conquer.

"_It is well that war is so terrible, or we should get too fond of it."  
-Robert E. Lee_

Working with L on a case like this made both he and Light more chatty than they had been for months. This stemmed from practicality – during the previous summer and fall, they had devised through trial and error their own system of partnership, and found that open communication was best between them concerning exactly what they were currently doing. It had always been a necessity for Light because even back then, it was always L who was actually in charge of the investigation and had the authority on what could and would be done, and that was certainly the case today as well. But L also valued Light's consistently creative thinking when he himself was stumped, so had always actively encouraged his free-reign deductive abilities. The system was habitual, but more importantly, it was effective and that was both of the genius's primary concern, so if that meant they had to talk, they would talk.

This did not mean that Light forgot about his anger, instead that he was willing to set it aside. This also wasn't a new predicament – there had been a generous handful of times that, even back when he had no recollections of being Kira, the detective had downright pissed him off. But back then, there was nothing really to be done for it, and keeping the peace was important when one was a mass-murder suspect literally handcuffed to the detective. Light wasn't acting cold, exactly, because that took effort and was counterproductive, but he tried to keep very professional. As the minutes ticked by, however, old habits made him more casual, at least, casual enough to let crude Japanese vernacular slip his lips.

"_Damn_ ..."

"What's happening?" L probed, raising himself on his crouched knees to peer over Light's shoulder with a skinny finger grappling his lower lip. "You swore, so, something bad?"

"I was able to hack into the video cameras after all," Light said, pointing to indicate to L the mainframe browser with the sixty-seven camera links, and then he pulled up video feed from one of the cameras in the meeting room. This brought a much more clear picture to the hostages, who had been ushered to the back of the room where men in ski masks brandished handguns. "It wasn't even difficult."

"Ah." L frowned into the computer screen, and when he spoke his voice was distant – proof that he was thinking rapidly. "Light-kun was swearing in disappointment, then?"

"I expected it to be a lot harder," Light admitted. "Actually, I expected the camera lines to just be manually cut so hacking them would be impossible. But it's like they didn't even bother. Are these guys idiots?"

L continued to stare at the fuzzy picture of the hostages on the Monitor 9, or whatever number he had branded it. He leaned forward even more, extending vertebrae by vertebrae to get closer, his dark eyebrows furrowing in thoughtful displeasure. Light awkwardly shifted to the side a little as L's face advanced to just inches against the screen. After a few seconds the peculiar man retreated his face and hopped his feet toward Light's keyboard.

"What are-"

"I'm going to bring up the most relevant camera feeds on different monitors," he explained, his waist landing in Light's lap as he hijacked the keyboard, already typing access codes into the system files. "That's why I have twenty computers in this room, you know."

The adolescent glowered, trying very hard to ignore the damned detective practically laying on his legs and focus instead on the method L was using to connect to his other computers. When L typed several passwords he attempted to read by watching the keys that he typed, but L typed so quickly that it was hard to discern what keys he pressed in what order, not to mention the password was some long, nonsensical thing. But a minute later, computers around the room began to wake into life by displaying the gritty black-and-white camera feed from various locations of the building.

"I'm assigning you these three monitors," L announced, waving a hand. "Keep specific watch on the hostages and tell me if you see one of them so much as speak to the terrorists. You should have a list of everyone invited to attend the Interpol meeting, correct?"

"Yeah, I have it. Names and faces."

"Good, then please identify faces on the cameras and keep tabs on everyone. I'm going to be making direct audio contact with the_ Regierender Bürgermeister_, so your silence would be appreciated."

"Fine, but _I_ would appreciate it if you move now. You're getting your blood on my lap."

L raised his thin eyebrows, getting up and looking down at his white shirt. It was stained with various patches of thick red – a tribute to their earlier fistfight in which noses, lips, and gums had not been spared from wound. The detective pulled at his own shirt like it was a priority investigation over the hostage crisis, then glanced at Light's lap. "To be accurate, I was more probably getting _your_ blood in your lap."

"...That's digust-"

"Shh." Evidently, it was time for Interpol again.

Light mused on the more pressing situation with his fingers curled under his chin. Watari was in Berlin, the largest city and capitol of Germany. It was an International Criminal Police Organization gathering, and Watari was representing L by acting as his mouthpiece. The ICPO meeting was presumably Kira related – but then again, the adolescent had been deprived of free access to world news, and definitely barricaded from whatever L had been doing over these months, so the topic could be any number of things. Light hadn't thought about it as much when he was dealing with L directly over the previous year, but in his first unpleasant introduction with the alleged 'greatest detective in the world', the media had been having a field day over it. He recalled a magazine article with the bold-faced title, "Super Sleuth L, Interpol's Shadowy Mastermind vs. Supernatural Telepathic Mass Murderer, Kira" and then he had merely associated L with the government.

So what did that mean? Did L actually work for Interpol, or did Interpol work for him? The spidery man had mass amounts of money and influence. Light remembered how he had brought the American FBI over to Japan for purposes of finding him by spying on the Japanese NPA, and built an expensive skyscraper for the team to use as its headquarters. What exactly was L's title, and what was the nature of his affiliation with the world policing agencies? Light wanted to know _so_ badly, and when he watched L speaking German into his microphone by the computer, without stumbling his words once, and then receiving a husky answer in the same language made him feel oddly inferior. He hated the feeling, but there it was: a realization of how very little he knew about Ryuuzaki.

In all of those months of playing cat-and-mouse, of running for his life while trying to take L's, of playing at friendship and then at mortal enemies, to Light it had all been very personal. When they had interacted, it had felt like they were doing it on very close and dangerous terms. Now, it was unnerving to think that L, socially-dysfunctional son-of-a-bitch L, knew everything there was to know about Light, but Light really knew virtually nothing about him – not his history, the specifics of his occupation, and certainly not his real name. Thinking about it like that, he felt strangely depressed and alienated. Then again, those feelings had been reoccurring ever since he had been brought to this place for many reasons, but he wanted to at least think that he _knew_ L.

This was Ryuuzaki, wasn't it? Or had he been imprisoned by a stranger?

"Light-kun?" L inquired, reverting to Japanese after he had exited communication. "You look grim. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Light responded, shaking himself free of the useless thoughts. "You know, it's hard to type with handcuffs on."

"Oh," he said stupidly, pretending to miss the implications. "Yes, that must be hard for you. Please keep up the good work, though."

Well, that wasn't anything new. It's not like complaining about handcuffs had been helpful back in the summer, and likewise today he was probably wasting his breath. Even if he did not know L, he realized, he knew Ryuuzaki – the persona that L had developed around him, a part of his personality that was familiar now as it had been established then, and at least right now, at this moment that mirrored the past, he could anticipate his enemy's way of thinking.

Attempting to shift his attentions away from these confusing thoughts, Light closed his eyes for a few seconds before reopening them to focus again on his work. He watched the prisoners carefully, comparing each one to the biography stats he had been given. Most were not big-name leaders, most were only police chiefs and directors and military figures from around the world. When he realized this, he felt a pang and scanned over the list again rapidly, wondering if perhaps he had missed his father, Soichiro Yagami's name. But unfortunately – or fortunately, when he thought about what that would mean – the name was absent.

"We have four bodies that appear dead," L announced after going through the video camera feed in various hallways of the building. "They are security guards. It seems that ten guards, posted at various stations, are involved in the hostage situation, whereas the others were disposed of. Five more have been bound but are unmoving."

"Ten? There's more than ten gunmen here."

L sighed, nibbling at his thumbnail. The clicking against his teeth sounded over the computer's hum. "To be honest, I believe this was as simple as letting comrades in the back door once getting through the gates. A Trojan Horse scenario. Perhaps you know this from your father, but the greatest security in international affairs is secrecy. These meetings are not advertised, and generally because of that they have no reason to fear complications. Thus, security is not as high as if it were, say, a politicians meeting."

"So our attackers somehow found out about this supposedly confidential meeting?"

"Yes." L shifted, clenching his toes into wooden floorboards. He curled them, watching them with keen interest as though they were much more relevant to the investigation than his computer screen of data was. "My toenails have grown too long."

And there it was – the mighty transition statement that would lead into announcing something that L was hesitant to say to whatever present company he was in (sans Matsuda, whom he freely batted away verbally and/or physically without a second thought). Light narrowed his eyes, already having a good idea what L was about to suggest.

"Watari, the _Bundeswehr_ – the German military that I've been communicating with, and I all have reason to believe that the terrorists are militant European Kira supporters," L finally admitted after clearing his throat. "For you to continue being of use, this is something that will be crucial for you to know. If you are going to be oppositional about this, please leave because I cannot deal with you right now."

L wasn't exactly looking at him, in fact, he was looking at Light's feet like he had a fetish. But still, Light could feel those midnight orbs boring into him, tearing apart his facial expression and even the movement of heart beat in his chest. This really would be a concern of L's – even if the scenario was highly unlikely, L couldn't risk Light rebelling against him when Watari's life was on the line.

"L," Light said at length. "Do not misinterpret me. I never endorsed terrorists. I judged them. The Kira I created would never approve of his name being tarnished like this."

"Good," L dismissed. "Then we're in agreement."

_All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.  
-Guatama Buddha _

As midnight ticked to one AM, L was confident about only two things. One was that if the situation became dangerous, Watari would be able to escape. Watari had managed to slip away from the crowd, thanks to almost thirty years of working as a secret agent. In case of emergency, L had already devised the route that he would want the old man to use, the quickest and safest, because losing the old man was a blow that L genuinely did not want to receive. The other thing L was confident about was that Light Yagami would not take this opportunity to betray him. He had proved his usefulness by speeding the investigation by at least 80 percent, and though L wasn't comfortable with letting him do what he wanted on the Internet, he was certain that not even Kira would try to hurt L unless he himself would benefit from it – and they both knew that he wouldn't.

For the past two hours, the pair had been working to both progress the situation as well as calm any immediate threat. As L kept helped to advise and direct the Berlin police, Light researched for a link between the people attending the meeting and a pro-Kira intermediate that possibly could have tipped the terrorists off.

"Okay, Ethan Farrell's daughter, Julia, is actively pro-Kira."

"Farrell is from?"

"Canada. He's just a police chief, though." Light spoke slowly as his eyes darted across and down a text block of information on his screen. "She's twenty years old, a member of the Kira is Justice organization at her university, and has marched for several parades."

"Information source?"

"Her Facebook."

"Ah. So Julia Farrell is a suspect, as there is a possibility that her father alerted her of the meeting in Berlin."

Light shook his head, unsatisfied. "Julia lacks any criminal record, she's involved in other recreational activities, including volleyball and a cheer leading squad. This woman lacks motive, and intelligence. Look, she spelled 'Canada' with two n's."

L shrugged. "As you are well aware, I don't easily dismiss suspects."

"Don't be ridiculous," Light said indignantly. "Not everyone who supports Kira wants to kill people. Rational people support him because they want terrorism to stop."

The detective rubbed a hand against his temples, wishing Wammy was here to provide him with more coffee. "I do not wish to discuss this with you right now when there are more important things at stake."

"That's not what I'm getting at," he insisted, his earthy irises focused intensely on his computer screen. "I just mean, maybe these guys aren't Kira supporters in the first place. Maybe they have different motives. Think about it. You've had several strings of communication with their leader, Frederick Goddard already. Even if they've been brief, he never once mentioned Kira, he only talked about how the police would do best to cooperate. And we've looked up Goddard's profile, there's nothing to suggest that he's pro-Kira. The guy is just mafia scum."

"The fallacy in that reasoning is that there are few reasons why else an Interpol meeting would be attacked," L argued. "If they were after something petty like money, they would not threaten Interpol. This is too complex. It's also dangerous for them. It has every indication of being a political statement, so please proceed in looking for Kira connections. Also, be sure to inspect the backgrounds of those who were absent but invited to Berlin."

The adolescent complied, and L stretched. His clock now read 3:05 AM, and his brain began to crave sustenance. L glanced at Light for a moment, who was working intently with a serious face that was eerily reminiscent of his father, Soichiro. L had high respect for Soichiro's dedication, but he didn't particularly want to think about how the man was probably still mourning his disappeared son, so he stood up and headed to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. He deliberated momentarily over a chocolate ice-cream sandwich or banana cream pie, and chose the pie because the former choice would be messy without napkins and he didn't want to go to the kitchen and leave Light alone here.

On that thought, he decided to offer Light pie, even though he was 98 percent confident that Light would refuse (and that confidence was the reason he meant to offer in the first place). But just as he was about to call over, Light's voice sounded first.

"Wait...This name is familiar..." The realization dawned on him like a crack of lightning. "George Fletcher! Fletcher was invited to the Interpol meeting!"

"The Miami police chief," L recalled the case Watari had entrusted Light with several weeks ago. The details whispered, and then bombarded him. January, a plane ride back from New York City, arrival in Miami, a late night. A beating and a murder.

"Then, he wasn't just beaten up," Light concluded. "He knew the place and the date. Someone tortured him to find out."

That 'someone' had to be David Castleton, the man Light had found overwhelming evidence against in the Fletcher case, right down to matching DNA in particles of hair at the murder scene and on the man's head. It was a crude, sloppy murder and Castleton was in custody and standing trial. The scenario was perfect, but the puzzle pieces felt like the wrong color. Castleton had been involved with some under-the-table drug business but there was no obvious conjunction point to Goddard and the German terrorists in Berlin. L didn't dismiss this, for he was certain that there was _something_ but he knew that at the moment, pinpointing the specifics would be a waste of valuable time. In the morning, L would recommend that the American government transfer Castleton to Interpol custody, and from there they could gather more information, but until then he would have to make an assumption and proceed from there.

At 4:34, something else happened. L watched through video camera himself as one of the terrorists made a break for the exit and ran out of the building and into the crowds, throwing off his ski mask. The behavior was unexpected, as the visual feed on the monitors revealed no tension among the terrorists. However, the cameras only allowed visuals, so any speaking by word of mouth or handheld transceiver was lost. The young man was apprehended by the police, revealed himself to be by the name of Anton Rowley and then demanded a lawyer. L was certain that Rowley would be persuaded to be helpful before the end, but as far as he was concerned, the most interesting thing was that there was evidently dispute among the terrorists.

"L!" Light suddenly hissed. "One of the cameras just went dead!"

Awakened from his musings, L glanced to find Monitor 13 staring blankly back at him. The feed was gone, replaced with a 'user error'.

"They finally cut it manually," Light explained. "I can't get back into it. I tried."

The detective tensed, awaiting further damage. But there was nothing, the other cameras continued to run smoothly. A single camera had been cut in a small room, so neatly snuffed out of the picture that it was almost as though it were a game. As though Goddard knew perfectly well that he was being watched. As though...

As though... he wanted it?

A sudden anxiety surged through L and he grabbed his microphone. "Watari, I want you to abandon this building immediately."

_Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured;  
But like the sun, only for a time.  
-Christian Nestell Bovée_

The biggest problem was that one seemed to know where to go from there. The police didn't know what to do because the terrorists didn't seem to know what to do, and because of that, L was completely at a loss himself at what he should be doing. Hostage-takers had never been so meek in the history of hostage-taking. When Goddard would agree to speak through the German police chief via cellphone, he would tersely repeat that the police were to stay back or he would kill the hostages. It wasn't uncommon for terrorists in this situation to set such boundaries initially, but drowsily L looked at a clock that now read 6:58 in the morning. It was as though something was taking place inside the building, but it had been uneventful. There was only the issue of the blocked room to consider.

Watari was completely out of the area, and though that meant the older detective would be safe, this also denied L a direct link to the action. It was annoying, but L had assumed that keeping his proxy there wasn't worth the risk. Now as things were getting dull again, it seemed like an awful waste.

At eight o'clock in New York City's morning, Goddard began to demand money. His numbers were a ridiculous amount that he couldn't honestly think that the Berlin police would just give him. L still suspected ulterior motives, but as long as no one was being direct, he couldn't know for certain.

Light was getting more silent by the minute, until finally at 10:01, he spoke wearily.

"You know, I don't get you."

L looked at the adolescent's face, hallow from exhaustion with dark circles watering down the usual intensity of his eyes. "Yagami-kun?"

"How come you're never bothered at all?"

The voice was crackled, slurred slightly and Light rubbed his fists into his eyes. It was almost the voice of a drunk man, but the real reason was obvious enough. The detective had many memories of working next to a tired Light Yagami, who in his long-since-past normal schedule would allow himself about eight hours of undisturbed sleep during the night. As an eighteen year old, L supposed that this habit was healthy, and he had long since recognized that his own body at twenty-five years of age could get by unscathed from these kind of nights. Light, on the other hand, wasn't expected to keep up. L hadn't forgotten what kind of toll it took on the teenager, though it had been months since he had a reminder.

"I don't understand what you mean," L answered curiously.

Light's eyebrows fell downward, contorting his face into a frown. His gaze was still on the computer in front of him, his arms still wrapped loosely around his legs, but he yawned as he spoke next. "You're never bothered at all when you're gambling something, no matter how high the stakes are. It's like you really don't think you'll ever lose."

L watched him for a few seconds before responding. "I do not make a gamble that I haven't already calculated my odds for."

"Only if the odds are good, huh?" Light murmured. "You're always so calm, as though nothing matters to you."

"There are things that matter to me," L responded quietly.

"Is that right?" Light sighed through another yawn. His eyelashes fluttered for a moment, stubbornly trying to stay open. "You lie so often that if I didn't know you well, I wouldn't know you at all."

"...You're tired, Light-kun. How about you go to sleep now?"

A third yawn, and then, "So, were you lying, Ryuuzaki?"

L didn't need to speak again. He kept silent and Light didn't seem to mind, nor notice. The words took more energy out of the sleep-deprived teenager, and Light's head rocked forward. Again he rubbed his eyes, and then made a mumbled noise that L could translate as _tell me if something comes up_, words he had uttered, or at least tried to, a hundred times over the time they had shared a handcuff. And again, under the warm sunshine that breathed through the windows, Light was Light and L was Ryuuzaki. At least, that's how it felt, a little.

"_War does not determine who is right — only who is left."  
-Bertrand Russell_

Now alone in consciousness, L's day went on slowly. Now that the criminals had been identified and the police had an open line of communication, there was not much left for L to do except sit back and supervise. The Berlin police were organizing a surprise assault to take place as soon as they could assure that the hostages would be safe. The fact that most of the meeting's attendees belong to some kind of policing force themselves was also fortunate, as they would be familiar with crisis protocol and would probably be able to take care of themselves.

L's level of excitement had dropped.

He was actually getting tired. L had not slept much the previous night, an accomplishment far from unfamiliar to him. But then, this last night he had hardly blinked his eyes because of the Interpol situation. Sleeping before the hostages were free and the criminal threat was distinguished wasn't something he planned on doing. It wouldn't have been a big issue, but the fact of the matter was, it was now about five o'clock in the evening, and he hadn't consumed any caffeine or sugar in more than six hours.

Which _was_ unfamiliar to him.

L stifled a yawn and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then looked down at the thing anchoring him to the ground and preventing him from reaching the mini-fridge. Light wasn't just asleep, he was deeply asleep and hardly stirred at all. L was sure that this was probably a good thing, and for all of his genius IQ points and scheming abilities, he hadn't yet plotted a way to get Light's heavy head off of his knee before the youth woke up. Light despised him, understandably, and the fact that his unconscious self had deemed his worst enemy's thigh a good pillow would make him furious when he woke up.

This position also meant that L had to sit, one leg spread straight on the ground and the other knee loosely upright. He couldn't alter between his favorite perched position and stretching into something else when he stopped being able to feel his feet from the strain. Shifting his weight too abruptly, or trying to manually reposition Light's head would lead to an 80 percent chance of shaking him awake, and there was a 97 percent chance that that would be an unpleasant scenario. Putting it off until later would be L's chosen course of action.

He was tired, cramped, hungry and impatient, but as he stared down at Light's relaxed face he was filled with a peculiar sensation. Peaceful, perhaps it was. Light always had appeared much younger to L when he was asleep, the frowns and calculations and anxiety completely dissipated in the mercy of closed eyes. He was a boy again, instead of the brilliant, bloodthirsty mastermind who had earned himself the death penalty a thousand times over and a sixty life sentences if he survived those. No, this was just Light Yagami, as he should have been.

Just like he was back_ then_, when he proclaimed his purity, day after day when L kept them attached together by a chain. Someone who was noble, admittedly, more noble than L was. The gullible kind of nobility that one can't win with, just like his father. But that Light Yagami was manipulated and lead around like a puppet on strings, as was everyone else, and now this humanoid vessel belonged to Kira.

But L would be lying if he said he wasn't selfish. What L had wanted all along was for ...Light to be Kira... and to win.

Swallowing, and still feeling drowsy, L reached his fingertips to Light's forehead. Feeling stupid but as inquisitive as Pandora, he brushed golden-brown strands of loose hair to the side that had been clouding Light's closed eyelids. Eyelashes fluttered slightly and L tensed, but the adolescent stilled. Without that tousled hair in the way, L could more clearly examine Light's face. The lower lip still caked in dry blood and the blue-black darkening of bruises on his cheek from their fight before, the scratch from L's jagged fingernails. Well, it wasn't as if the young criminal hadn't deserved it – L hadn't looked in the mirror, but he undoubtedly carried the same battle scars.

**BEEP BEEP. **

_"L, we need you now! There's an emergency! L!"_

The sound of the urgency signal shook L awake like ten cups of coffee, and Light, too. Light jerked, eyes peeling open and foggy with confusion, before he lifted himself with a flushed face.

"What the_ hell_-"

"Quiet!" L commanded hurriedly, diving forward for the microphone with one hand and the keyboard with the other and spoke with the German police director. "Mr. Winchecomb, what's wrong?"

The response began in frantic German before L had even finished his inquiry. "_They have a bomb! The leader, Frederick Goddard, just sent a message that we have ten minutes to give him what he wants or he'll set it off._"

_Damn it–_ "What does he want?"

"_The message was that L knows what he wants_," Winchecomb cried out. "_He must have realized that you would help us with the case, since L is the enemy of Kira._"

"It could be a bluff. Hold him off! Tell him we'll begin organizing whatever he's really after immediately."

L took manual control of the video cameras, flicking through the screens and zooming in on faces, trying to locate any hint of hostility. The terrorists he could see looked completely apathetic, unconcerned that they, along with the hostages, were having their lives threatened. Did they _know_? Was Goddard really just pulling an impulsive bluff when it looked as though he were about to lose? But then, the man had done this with intentions, and surely he knew what he was getting himself into. He would be prepared.

"What's going on?" Light demanded, recovering himself by sensing the danger of the situation.

"Goddard is threatening to blow up the building." The words came out automatically as L switched connection lines to Watari and language to English. "Watari, is the military charging or negotiating?"

"_Hold on-_ " A muffled pause, and then, "_They haven't decided themselves. They're trying to stall him._"

"What do they want?" Light pressed, now sitting erect by his computer.

_You, maybe,_ L thought. It would be logical that the motivation behind the militant Kira supporters was to win Kira's freedom, if they had figured out that their beloved homicidal maniac was in Interpol custody. After all, the message had supposedly been that L has what he wants, and the logical citizens of the world might have connected Kira's inactivity to L, his televised opposition. But then again, Light had had a point earlier. There was no shards of Kira in this situation. Goddard had not mentioned it. No one had - it was simply an assumption from all of the Kira protests and rallies taking place in Berlin, along with reports of violence connected with them.

"_L! Goddard has cut lines, repeat, Goddard has cut lines!" _

Cut lines? He had demanded something from L and was closing off communication? Was the man _insane_?

"_I don't think he's going to wait the full ten minutes!_ "

"Damn it! Just get away from there, Watari, as far as you can go!" L cursed, desperately changing lines again. "Winchecomb, get the bystanders back!"

"L, you have that piece of my Death Note, right? Use it!"

"Be quiet!"

"_L, we want to charge the building. We're going to break for the hostages!_"

"No! Tell everyone to get back! That won't help, you'll only agitate them!" L snarled into the microphone. "Get back!"

"There's some people running outside-"

**BOOM.**

The outside visual feed showed the explosion fuzzy, gritty, like something from an old war movie. It was shoddily done, L found himself realizing in a stunned sort of shock. The walls of one half of the building did not move, whereas the contents of the other erupted into rubble. The sound of screams and German curse words wailed through the microphone, somehow shrill enough to stand their own against the roar of a sound. Pieces of metal and concrete bulleted through the air in every direction.

And then, in short time lag of the satellite, the camera footage from inside the building that were announcing themselves on L's many monitors began to flick off, one by one, the picture dead and replaced by the red words, "USER ERROR".

It was an error.

Only two cameras remained. There had been three planted outside by the Berlin police – apparently hit by flying rubble. But two cameras was more than enough to see the devastating damage. The once-building reduced to shards of the past. The bystanders on the street yelling and running. The bystanders who had been hit in the blast, dead or wounded.

Arnold Winchecomb had already found his voice, speaking in desperate, hushed tone. "_L, my people had no way of knowing that one would have a bomb. It's not our fault. They... must have had it with them the whole time, right under our noses!_"

L murmured back, softly. "This is a great tragedy, Mr. Winchecomb. Send aid for the people."

"_It's already been done, of course_," the man said quickly, as though not wanting to procure L's anger or blame. "_Listen, though. You know we captured one of the terrorists – Anton Rowley_."

"Find out what his group was, what their precise motives were and if this will happen again."

"And if he doesn't talk?"

"Find ways to make him talk."

"...There will be issues. Germany doesn't usually-"

"This was an international murder and therefore Rowley belongs to Interpol, not Germany," L said, his hands wrapped around his ankles and squeezing until he felt a painful throbbing. "Clean up Berlin, and report as much of the truth to the public as you can without causing a panic. You best defense will be stealing the secrecy of the terrorists."

L exited audio communication, now gripping his own hair. Had he been careless? It was true that he hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. He had less sugar stimulation than normal, too, because Watari was absent and he had to keep an eye on Light. Should Watari have detected that the terrorists had explosives, that they meant to destroy the building and everyone in it – including themselves? No, from where Watari was, the situation had every indication of a normal ransom-taking. L himself had been watching on video camera. Should Light have realized sooner that only one camera had been cut? No, that too was unreasonable. He had figured it out early enough, and in that time the notion of a bomb had been an unrealistic assumption, because theoretically, if the terrorists had a bomb they would let the police know straight away. The question wasn't about _how_ they did it. It was about _why_.

The detective scratched his head, gripping on his own thick hair. Lingering on this would also be pointless. It wasn't as though he wouldn't follow through and solve this case. The casualties were unfortunate, but he would have to move on and unravel the greater plot. That was all there was to it.

"At least forty-one people died."

The announcement came from Light, and L turned to him.

"Thirty-nine inside the building, and judging by the video cameras, the man and the woman who got their heads bashed in on Monitor 11 probably aren't going to make it."

He was already frustrated, and Light's agitation wasn't helping things. "Very astute observation, Yagami-kun. This is the real world, outside of your disciplined, organized school life. Welcome to it."

The expression on the adolescent's face was a mask, but something dangerous began to shine through. He had been holding a notebook, L realized, the one he had used to jot down notes. Light stood up, looking down at L, and then flung the book of papers into his lap before leaving, exiting the room and down the hallway.

L didn't know why he bothered, but he opened the notebook to see what Light had intended for his eyes. And though it was exactly what he expected to see, suddenly he was furious as he saw it was really there.

Frederick Goddard – heart attack

He slammed the notebook down on the floor, clenching his fists at the insult, and then went after Light.

_Listen for the voice of God and follow it, and in time you will find your salvation.  
Follow the teachings of God and receive his blessings,  
And so it shall be that the seas shall again become bountiful  
And the raging storms shall subside.  
-_Light Yagami's English classroom, 2004

The slim, silent figure of Light Yagami stood next to the bulletproof glass door that lead out into the small, sheltered balcony. His chained hands were raised to chest level, fingertips brushing against the glass that must have been icy as he stared out into the sunset, lost in his thoughts. When L saw him, he exhaled sharply and calmed himself. Problems were best dealt with when one had a clear head, and L was rarely one to act rashly.

"It's been a long day," he commented tiredly, coming up behind the younger man. "It's cold out, but maybe some fresh air would be best, don't you think?"

Without waiting for a response, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a key, and abruptly unlocked the door. When it opened, a crisp breeze met them. The traditional balcony wasn't large, but it had a roof and a thick balustrade enclosing it. The protection kept most of the snow out, though the floor was still chilly to both men's bare feet. But the white powdery flakes that decorated the beams reflected the colors of the sunset like a mirror. More brilliant was the real thing, with an array of tones that could only exist in the stillness of winter, beams of pinks and oranges striking across the atmosphere.

It had been awhile since L had bothered to look and appreciate, but he needed something to do besides jam his hands into his pockets, totter on his feet, and wait for Light to make the first move.

"Already, so soon. Day after day, the problems increase," Light expressed quietly, elbows on the railing and looking out to the sky. "When you think about it, it's amazing what humans will do simply because they can do it. The chaos of murder, rape, slavery, war. Day after day, the Earth is the battleground of hierarchy, where the strong exercise their dominance over those weaker, and for what purpose? Violence breeds violence, and the only force halting it is mere misfortune.

"The world is rotting. So soon after Kira, people again commit their crimes without punishment. There is no incentive for goodness. The roaches survived their punishment, now they are once again free to flaunt their faces and names over the ones they terrorize. And they know it, just like the innocent know it – it is_ rotting,_ and now who profits? The pure or the scum?"

"Tell me, Ryuuzaki," Light said softly. "Tell me how you saved the world from unlawful revolution."

"...I will not answer a flawed question."

Irises of amber and ebony matched, picking the other apart.

"Ryuuzaki can't answer a question, he assumes the disfigurement lies in the very suggestion, rather than himself. But what if he, and all he stands for is nothing? The opposition he holds onto because he would rather maintain his own righteousness than alter the reality he lives in? Tell me how you saved the world,_ L!_"

L did not speak. He rubbed a foot against his jean-clad leg idly.

"I wonder then if you believe in the teleology of human purpose," Light continued, the golden rays of sunset beset upon his face. "The world rots, so if we are to embrace morality, what is the greatest evil of all?"

"Indifference," L finally answered tiredly. "You are suggesting that I should have let you be, yet, the greatest evil of all is indifference to evil. Therefore my own immorality would lie in ever letting you go, where you could proceed in your murders."

"Yes, indifference is the greatest evil of all," Light concurred powerfully. "Then how should I have ever rejected my calling? How could I possibly _not_ become Kira, when a divine tool literally fell into my hands? I didn't realize what it could do until I tried it on the Shinjuku Killer, Kurou Otoharada. He barricaded himself inside a children's nursery and took hostages, armed and dangerous. I had the means to save the kids, if I had not acted that day, they would probably be dead. Who deserves to walk the streets more? A convicted murderer, or eight preschool-age children? If I hadn't done anything, then I would be damned."

L darkened, but chose his words as fairly as he could. "One accidental murder might be forgiven, as you had no way of knowing the validity of the notebook. But the moment you voluntarily wrote names in the Death Note while knowing full well that you were taking lives was the moment you were damned."

"So we're damned either way!" Light proclaimed, his arms reaching toward the sky as he snapped his face upward, challenging the gods themselves. "I could've gotten rid of it, I even thought about it after I tested it. It is evil to have the power to kill people, I thought. The notebook is absolutely cursed. But what if I used it for good? And then – if I dared to use it, could I? Did I have what it would take? I thought I'd lose my mind to fear of it, and lose my soul to the Shinigami who owned it, and be taken away to hell. No, I should say, Ryuuzaki – I expected to be damned."

For a second, Light's eyes cast downward at the snowy city below, a silent reminiscence. Then, he looked up again with conviction.

"But that's the reason why I realized, I was the only one who could do it." His bronze hair flew in a gust of wind, it was as though the aura around him expanded until he himself was something divine. "I was the only one who could change the world, no matter what it did to me. I was ready to sacrifice the future I had worked my entire life to achieve. Nothing mattered except showing the world a god who will be justice to everything that was rotting.

"If everyone who is bad dies of a heart attack, people will catch on to the pattern. The world would know that Kira existed, they'd see that someone was finally passing righteous judgment on them. After that, nobody would commit crimes anymore. The world would start to become a better place."

L found his voice, as though the madness of it all had left his throat dry. "It's not teleology you're describing, it is your own solipsism and arrogance detaching you from the social world. What you wanted to do was deprive humans of their law-given rights, claim to know a human by his name and face alone and assume the position of their God by casting judgment, all this before you had even completed high school. If your supporters knew what you really were, they would be shamed from the irony of it."

"What's the shame?" Light challenged fiercely. "I was a role model student, the brightest in Japan. I was a perfect son and member of society, and I brought nothing but pride to my school and my family."

"You had _everything_." L felt an unexplainable force course through his veins, something so vivid that he wasn't sure he had ever in his life felt this way. Even if he had searched through the huge inventories of language that he had memorized, he was certain he wouldn't have been able to find a word to describe it. "Family, education, opportunity - everything a normal person could want. One day you could have shown patronage to justice by inheriting your father's job as police chief. The situation you face now, the hatred you have for me and undoubtedly your own pitiful existence, these are all self-inflicted, and I believe that you are intelligent enough to have awareness of this fact. The more you speak, the higher my assessment of your insanity is raised."

Light's eyes narrowed he stepped forward to the detective, standing higher than the slouching man, close enough to hear a whisper. The rage on his face was not only self-righteousness, as always, it was a challenge. "Am I insane? Then tell me _why_..! Kira worked, L! I saw the truth!"

L stood up straight, untucking his hands from his pockets. At this height, his real height, he could look Light in the eyes.

He advanced toward Light, backing him against the railing. The surge to fight again was so strong that he wasn't sure it was safe for either of them to be so close to the other, but in a powerful magnetic force, all words of logic meant absolutely nothing. Light met his glare, seething, and L shot his hand forward to turn the other around by the shoulder. Light didn't want his back toward his enemy and so flung his fists, but L pushed his self against Light's back, so close that he couldn't be touched. He jerked him into the edge of the balcony with a hand gripping the nape of his neck, so that they both saw the city below, lights turned on in the dimming of the dusk sky.

"Is this your world, Kira?"

Light was shaking with what could only be fury, made more dangerous by the calm voice he used. "It's the world that's rotting because of you."

"It's mortal." L annunciated, close to Light's ear. "Chaos is a natural side effect of mortality, along with one other thing: fallibility. And you, Light, are nothing more than human. Perhaps you were raised with the expectation of perfection but you've made horrendous mistakes and evidently lack the deductive abilities to discern that you are capable of wrongdoing."

"I lowered the crime rate, not you."

"I'm aware of the results of your actions, more than you are in fact. The issue is not the result but the nature of the result, in which Kira – eighteen year old Light Yagami – was able to kill thousands of people with a shred of remorse. He destroyed lives without twitching a muscle in his face, being so caught up in his own entertainment he lost sight of the reality of it. What is the ultimate evil, Yagami-kun?"

Light turned himself around to face L, though the man's hand still constricted his neck.

"Indifference was the answer we agreed upon," L continued. "You became indifferent to your own evil, so much that no one's loss would ever make you bat an eye. You claim to punish the wicked, yet inconsistently, you murdered innocent people."

"Only people who were actively pursuing me."

"Did they not have a right to stop you? Are you demeaning their duty to protect the sanctity of the law by pursuing those who tarnish it?"

"You're thinking about this so selfishly!" Light cried out, clearly disturbed. "Listen, I killed those people so Kira wouldn't be caught. If I hadn't, everything I did would be for nothing."

"So Light Yagami's life has more value than anyone else's?"

"Not Light Yagami's. _Kira's_. Kira was the god-given remedy to everything in this world that was wrong. He is the hero of the people who were once victimized, he is the god of those who have pure hearts. Kira was _everything_ and if I had allowed any mistake to go unchecked... well, that's why you were supposed to die, wasn't it, L?"

Before L could say anything, the vigilante continued.

"_Don't_ tell me that I wasn't justified. It's me who was controlling everything behind Kira, without me he would never exist in the first place, and without me, he ceases to exist. This world is regressing back to normalcy because of what you removed and the catalyst you inhibited. I know your arguments, but I also know the results and I've seen that my dream could have been a reality – if not for you.

"No, Ryuuzaki. Do not tell me I was not justified. Because _Kira is justice, _and nothing, absolutely nothing you say to me will change that."

It was there, in the sky-ridden balcony that towered above the reality, whirling in the proclamations of a revolution, that the world shattered.

That was when L realized that not only Light but he, too, was trying to justify something absurd. He cherished Kira, as much as he despised him, he admired Kira as much as he loathed him. He needed this person, this _idea_ like black needed white to have any self-identity. Manifested within the nihilist's edict there was a salvation. In those words there was fallacy, but in that foolishness there was a passion almost more real. These words were the taste Light's idealism, and to suck out the dreams and the life itself that radiated with what could only be brilliance, the dangerous kind of brilliance that made survivors alive for the first time.

L wanted nothing more than to tear these words from Light's lips.

Absolutely wrong, absolutely misguided, so incredibly juvenile. But there, in the infinite perspicacity of the atmosphere, L saw that worshiping this young vigilante, _Kira_, was only a natural reaction to the artistry of heaven. Though it was in actuality a step backwards from enlightenment, all of the sudden L saw nirvana in the eyes of Lucifer. And L wanted it.

(For what is good without evil? _Nothingness?_)

Smoothly yanking his opposition's arms down by the chains he wore with one hand, L lunged his other hand onto Light's chin, cupping it in in place. He did not allow Light any time to react; he couldn't have allowed it. A short gasp was muffled as instantly as it sounded, ringing into the world of the deaf and the blind where all that matters is what can no longer be contained.

When L pressed his mouth against Light's with enough force to push his upper body back against the ledge, almost falling into the sky, L could only fathom that he was tasting a gospel. It was as though if he demanded hard enough, he could extract the shining world that the adolescent was so certain he could make. He could rip the utopia that sprouted from the seeds of his destruction, for here was the only place L was able to believe, doubtlessly, that it existed.

Light was completely frozen, wide-eyed in disbelief. L stared into those amber eyes as he kissed him, closer to those blazing orbs than he had ever been in the almost-year that they had been acquainted. And even then, it wasn't close enough. L pushed even further, plunging his tongue into the confusion. The young man who created Kira as the alleged hero of a promise did not blink, and neither did L. He would not miss even a millisecond, not when perhaps here there would be some kind of answer to everything.

But L and Kira were not friends. No action was forgiven.

When Light bit into L's lower lip, the delirium was broken along with a layer of skin. Hissing under his breath, L tightened his slender fingers into the younger man's jaw, forcing them to part. In this distraction, Light struggled with his arms until he had twisted them to liberty enough to send them upward through their collided chests, chain scraping between, until he had wrapped his fingers around L's throat. They constricted mercilessly.

"Nngh...!"

L was losing his breath, yet for reasons irrational he held on, tightening. Now it was different, as they glared. It was the very opposition of their companionship which fueled this like gasoline. The vow of hatred, the _I-will-make-you-submit-to-me-or-you-will-die__-resisting_ as hands and lips grew more violent.

It was only when the pain of oxygen deprivation hit his lungs that L came to his senses. The reality struck him like lightning, as though he had been flying too close to heaven, too high up for gravity to deliver him the essential gases that he required to sustain life. That he had lost himself in the warmth of idealism horrified him, and he wrenched himself free of Light by grabbing the teenager's shirt and hooking a foot behind his knee, Brazilian Capoeira style, to trip and throw him to the floor of the balcony.

_What am I doing..?!_

He stared into the darkness of the now sunless sky, his own fingers brushing against his wet lips. The thought of what he had done, how far he had wanted to take it, made the winter cold again. Had he really just become something opposite of what he knew he was? L's mind struggled for some kind of justification. He searched desperately in the city lights below him for a reason for everything, any kind of explanation as to why he would ever become that...

When he heard Light scramble to his feet behind him, it came to him: he had wanted to.

And in that simple repressed desire – for Kira, for Light, for Light to be Kira and Kira to be Light, to destroy and to dominate and, most terribly, to attach to this person as someone completely unforgivable, unforgettable, as the only other human on Earth who the world knew as anything but – there was only downfall, because idealism was merely the perception that fools follow until reality sends them crashing to consequence. That fate was _Light's_, it was supposed to be _his_ crown of thorns, and L's role was simply a tool of criminal justice. L was logic, analysis and execution. L wasn't supposed to be _that._

"There are things I do not understand," L said, his voice scratching against his throat quietly. "Even though I know every meticulous detail about Light Yagami, I still do not comprehend why..."

L turned involuntarily toward the youth, who was already standing, muscles tensed and eyes radiating with dangerous fury. Light's teeth bared and his fists raised, every inch of his bruised skin and battered clothing towering with a willpower that was nothing less than raw, bloody hatred. Light did not even speak, he did not need to in order to convey his message.

There was blood in L's gums where the adolescent had pierced his skin. It tasted of mortality.

"...You are the only one who defeats me."

The words were proof enough of their own painful accuracy. Certainly, L knew, he had long since claimed his victory, he had buried a vendetta with only the media reports for a tombstone, he had chained up a demon and forced its powers to what was good. But that meant nothing, in the end, it would always mean nothing. He himself had allowed it to become obsolete, involuntarily, and could only mourn his own helplessness. He had been defeated the day that he did not execute the criminal, and he would always have to bear the responsibility for it.

And knowing this, still, he still could hardly bear it when Light left him, storming away back inside the building, with words as harsh and jagged as ice leaving him:

"If you ever do that again, _I will destroy you,_ no matter what it means for me."

-

_To Be Continued... _

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. _Regierender Bürgermeister: _Governing mayor

2. Teleology: the study of divine purpose in humans. ('Teleology of Death', Death Note OST)

3. Solipsism: the belief that one's mind is the only thing that exists for sure, everything outside of yourself lacks reality that's certain. ('Law of Solipsism', Death Note OST)

4. It was important for me to construct Light's speech as accurately to his character as possible, so actually, many of the phrases and themes are lines he actually says (or similar to) in the manga, particularly the first (inner monologue and dialogue to Ryuk) and last chapter (final speech). L explains significantly less about his own motives in the series, so I based his feelings toward Kira on the disgust he feels about immature judgment vigilantism (taking the opposing side of supporting the law as a worthy disciplinary system).

5. This was getting long, so I cut parts of the Berlin investigation out for pacing. So I apologize if it seems jumpy (i.e. "how did this happen?").

6. Those notes aside... yeah, I've read all the reviews and PMs, begging me to go one way or the other concerning two characters in this fic (and you know what I mean). I hope no one abandons ship now because of it, but the truth is I've already had this planned out ever since I decided to make this a multi-chapter fic, back in July. XD But I opted not to advertise it as such, because that's not _really_ what it's about... if that makes sense.

7. On L's attachment - from my understanding, L is an incredibly solitary person whom Ohba says "trusts no one" and "doesn't make friends". This story runs on the idea that L found attachment to Light during their mind games and time together, and having little history of being emotionally close to someone, is addicted like crack. Furthermore, this kiss is much more about L and Kira, as opposed to Ryuuzaki and Light.

8. And yes, there's more B to come. And Near, Mello and Matt, for second-arc fans.

Thank you for reading!  
-Serria


	8. Gods and Idols

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 8**

Disclaimer: _Death Note_ belongs to more brilliant people than I.

**Gods and Idols  
**

* * *

"_A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy._"  
_-Guy Fawkes_

Just a few minutes ago, Light Yagami had been powerful. Almighty. Omnipotent. A force as fierce as passion had ensnared him, drawing out a vast, latent intensity that he had kept suppressed for months. The atmosphere had radiated with revolution. A few minutes ago, Light had been more than himself, because just a few minutes ago, Light had been Kira.

But now he stumbled to his room, trembling with a frustration was only human. Tendrils of solicitude coiled in his stomach like a nest of writhing snakes. Although he walked upright with every indication of complete bodily control, the gold-mahogany hallway slithered in front of his eyes unsteadily, blurred by the malevolence that wracked his mind. His feet moved mechanically, his person was just a machine until he reached his room – his _cell_ – and gently closed the door behind him.

L was there, back in the balcony. L was in the hallways, L was in the rooms. L was in every video camera, the title of the disease that plagued this building. It was everywhere, _everywhere_, seeping in the carpets and making the air stale, shackling its victims and announcing the threat of mortality. A disease, a plague. A demon. A god. A god who controlled this place, a god who controlled the world. The Lucifer to Kira.

If Light looked into the mirror, or into the white-ice reflection in the window, what he saw was a perversion of a memory. Light Yagami, if such a person was a reality anymore, was a pale human with sunken in eyes. Now he wore the loose sweaters and jeans that he was given, and he hadn't touched a pair of socks since his capture. Thin and weary, he saw something ghoulish. Something infected. Poisoned.

Slowly, Light sat on the edge of his bed, where both the window and the camera obstructed his vision. For a minute or two he simply breathed, closing his eyes.

Then he began to shake. It started with a falter in his breath, which caused a jerk in his posture. From there, his ankles tensed, which lead to his knees quivering. Teeth gnashed together as his jaw clenched, and his head snapped downward as he grabbed his scalp, distorted, pulling at his hair and snarling, until an eruption of raw, painful emotion finally ripped free of his willpower.

"_Aaaaaaaargh!_ "

It was a terrible sound, to anyone listening, and though Light could hardly hear himself he felt the scream scraping up his throat, like the air was lined with shards of glass. It was uncontrollable, uncontainable, it was a howl of grievances that had been repressed since he had lost his freedom.

His body still trembled in the fury of it all, shudders running down his spine at the helplessness. Throughout all of these months he had retained it, wearing a face of acceptance for the cameras that were always geared on him. He had tried to keep the peace, to play the role that was the only reason he was alive. He had brushed away taunts, he ignored his handcuffs, he avoided thinking about how he might never see another human aside from L and Watari for the rest of his unknown existence.

But every day, he would lose. Every time he opened his eyes he couldn't escape the truth, like a snake in the grass he walked upon. He had been forced to remain a prisoner to his own failure, the only time in his life he had been a failure and now was punished eternally for it. Every time he looked at L's eyes, tearing him to pieces, he would lose.

And as long as L was alive, he would continue to lose.

(_That could be altered.._.)

His knuckle trailed across his mouth, brushing against his lips. He could still feel L, attacking him, trying to destroy him inside and out. L, proclaiming that he would destroy Kira, willing to hold back nothing until he had eliminated the revolution. Until he had eliminated Light Yagami... brandishing his victory and his domination until he had reduced Light to a mindless tool to do his bidding.

The saliva in Light's mouth felt thin and dry, but he stopped shaking. This was the sort of thing he had been anticipating, after all. Physically, psychologically, his worst enemy was going to punish him.

But why did L have to...?

A perversion of a game – the game that Ryuuzaki and Light Yagami were dear friends. It was nothing but a caricature, an image both distorted and disturbing. After all, friends don't kill each other, friends don't deliberately cause suffering on the other. Friends don't rip one another to shreds and restrain (or not) the urge to laugh in delight.

L and Kira would never,_ could _never have friends. But then, the saying goes – keep your friends close but your enemies closer yet. And in that sense, Light supposed, as close an enemies ever could be, he and L must be a caricature of lovers, too.

"_The gods play games with men as balls... In wondrous ways do the gods make sport with men." _  
_-Titus Maccius Plautus_

Jastin the Jeweled Skeleton didn't quite know what to make of this. As far as Shinigami hierarchy went, he was a high ranking god due to his vast inventory of knowledge concerning the detailed rules that the King had constructed. Because the King himself was difficult to locate and less than desirable to communicate with, lower ranked Shinigami would usually consult him, Jastin, instead. Not that most of them cared about the rules. Most of the gods didn't really care about anything anymore except rolling dice and playing cards, and on occasion, remembering to write a human name so that they wouldn't turn to dust. But on the rare event when one of them was actually afraid of breaking the 'rules' – and the penalties were pretty harsh – then to Jastin they would come. Perhaps he had grown arrogant, after so long. Which was why this human was quite the punch in the gut.

"I've really never seen something like this before," Jastin complained as he tinkered with a ruby grafted into the gold on his skull. "I guess you turned up with the other junk, eh?"

"I've been here for awhile," the humanoid creature said, standing up and stretching his thin limbs. Jastin could see finely outlined ribs underneath tight pale skin, and though he really didn't know much about this type of thing, he wondered if the thing was even alive. "Oh, this is where the junk comes in, you say?"

Jastin grunted, mentally going through his list of lore. A Shinigami wasn't supposed to talk about these things with humans, but he really wasn't sure if this _thing_ was a human. And besides, those rules were applicable to the human world in case of human contact. But then again, no human to his memory had ever been here before. In the end, the Shinigami concluded that it probably wouldn't matter here, since even if he was a human, this thing didn't have a name or a lifespan number, and therefore the rule could be disregarded. "That's right. This world only exists through sustenance from the other worlds. The portals here, they bring in random trash, or whatever it is. I bet you saw them. You can even look through them at the human world."

"I already saw," the thing answered with a chuckle. "I saw lots of things."

"So that's what you've been doing this whole time?" Jastin accused with a note of ridicule, before reminding himself that this, again, was not one of the gods (who everyone would make fun of if they tried too hard at human-watching or killing), but just a little bug with the rest of the garbage. It'd probably die soon, anyhow.

The creature watched him with those marvelous sparkling red eyes, and suddenly began to lean backwards. Jastin watched in confusion as the human bent over backwards, catching himself last minute with his arms so that he was in a bridge shape. It scurried along the rocks a couple of feet, saying, "There's one back there, about sixteen feet. Then to the north – I designated my own north, you see – there's another about twenty-six and a half feet, and to the south there's a portal at forty-seven feet away from where I am now."

Jastin really wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond to this or what, so he just stood in befuddlement.

"Hey!" the human said, doing something that Jastin was confident he couldn't do or at least wouldn't try: he began to arch his back upright again, until he was standing on two legs again. "Why are you reliant on all of this human trash? You're the first monster I've seen, and I guess I've been here for months."

"Months...?" Jastin realized how lazy he had been lately when it came to human lore, because he couldn't recall the exact number to convert this term into Shinigami time. "It's connected, so we can hunt the humans. Don't you know what a Shinigami does?"

It giggled, clasping its hands together. "Aha! The cause is magnetic to the effect. The grim reapers exist to kill."

"Yeah, with this." He held up his notebook, thin, sleek and white with studded jewels around the edge. The title was written in Shinigami alphabet, and realizing that this human thing probably couldn't read it, he told. "It's a Death Note. You can write a name in it, and the person you want to die drops. We get the remaining lifespan in compensation for the work, and that's how we live, you see?"

"You write a name? Write a name?" It cocked its head to the side. "In what language? With what utensil?"

"I only have a pen, but you can write in whatever you want as long as it shows. You have to write the name the way the human believes its name is written." Jastin was so adjusted to explaining the rules that he forgot who, or rather _what, _he was talking to. He laughed in amusement while he watched the skinny thing's beautiful eyes widen in attention. "But don't get excited. I don't think it'll work for you."

"People won't die if I write them in?"

"I meant you won't get any lifespan out of the deal." The silly thing. What did it expect? "So it'd be really pointless for you to even try."

The human lifted a foot off the ground, rubbing it against the knee of the other. It balanced like that, swaying its head from side to side while going over this information. "That's very interesting. I've found out a lot about this place. Now I understand why when I whisper through the portals... sometimes they can hear me."

"What are you talking about?" Jastin asked. "We talk around the portals all the time, and it's a really long way... no, it wouldn't work. You're crazy."

"_I'm not crazy._" The words were hissed, the ruby eyes narrowed and he was baring white teeth. It looked like it was going to lunge at Jastin's throat, right then, and if Jastin hadn't been immortal he might have been unnerved. Actually, he was a bit unnerved. This thing was quite out of the ordinary, and 'ordinary' was a very defined word in this realm. The human's anger suddenly dissolved into a placid smile. "Don't call me crazy. If you don't do that, maybe we can be friends."

"You wanna be friends, huh?" The Shinigami looked over the creature again, and as always, his gaze stopped at those jeweled eyes, those lovely things, and he was quite jealous. Well, he wouldn't mind having those eyes around him more often, so why not? "If you can manage to part yourself from chatting with the humans, you're welcome to gamble with us."

"Is it gambling if you have nothing left to lose?" it snickered, putting a hand over its own mouth and speaking muffled. "I suppose it could be the same if you have something very dear to gain."

"What d'you want?"

The creature didn't answer, instead he trotted a few paces where a puddle of gasoline had formed in the jagged rocks. He seemed to be studying his own reflection, one finger pointed at the liquid and the fingers of his other hand stuff between his teeth.

"Well, to be honest, I don't think you'll last long," Jastin confessed. "I dunno why you're here, but you don't belong. We can hang out as long as you continue existing, but whatever you want, you'd better be quick about getting it."

"It shouldn't take too long." It straightened its back, smiling, and began to strut further in the opposite direction that Jastin had come from. "I'm already making progress. Even I hadn't anticipated just how readily people will do what they're told."

Now Jastin was too confused for words, and he scratched at his jewel-studded skull.

"You're so slow," the thing said, turning its skinny neck without ceasing its footsteps. "Didn't you say you wanted to see me prove it?"

Jastin did not recall the point in the conversation when that creature had suggested any such thing, but he hadn't been this dumbfounded in a hundred years. Those ruby eyes were too entrancing for argument, anyway, and he found himself following along in charmed obedience.

_"Get out of the way of Justice. She is blind."_  
_-Stainslaw Lec_

"_Are you ready to cooperate yet?_"

"_F-fuck you._"

"_That is unfortunate. For both of us._"

Anton Rowley, captured accomplice to the terrorist suicide bomber Frederick Goddard, did not have a chance to respond again, lest howls of pain be called a response. There were two interrogators in the stained white cell – one, Thomas Roberts, leaning stiffly against the wall and asking the questions, second, Adrian Morris, currently burrowing his fists into the prisoner's stomach. Rowley himself would not have been in any condition to stand on his own, considering the amount of blood dripping from his body and the heavy discoloring of bruises marring his skin, but the chains held him up.

L frowned into Monitor 6, which allowed him to witness the work as well as command and interfere as he needed. He would have preferred to have a more direct control of the interrogation because the application of torture needed to be delicately balanced. The criminal's psychological and physical condition had to always be the primary concern. If one was too gentle, the prisoner would be likely to lie and resist. If one was too harsh, the prisoner would start babbling nonsense and doing whatever possible to be granted mercy. At both extremes, there were no useful answers. L needed to extract the truth.

With human ethical concerns and restrictions, of course.

"_N-n-no more!_" Rowley cried.

A swarm of phone calls had followed the attack, all wanting L and Watari. This was the first major terrorist attack that had hit international news since Kira's earliest days of reign. As much as it nagged at L's pride to think about it, Light had had a valid point the other day. There was no use being stubborn about the fact that yes, Kira did lower the crime rate, and yes, it was going up again now that he had disappeared. Not that this was entirely applicable to the mind frame of a _suicide _bomber, but nonetheless. Berlin didn't want a repeat of this incident, Interpol didn't want a repeat and innocent civilians certainly didn't either. Rowley had answers, and the world wanted them.

Light would probably have been gloating obnoxiously if he was here at that moment, if only because he would make more snide remarks about how the world was better off with Kira. But as it was, the adolescent had been ignoring him for two days, ever since... Light was always in his room, working on his own cases, so far only hunger had been able to draw him out, but the one time they had crossed paths in the kitchenette, Light had given him a glare that could shatter glass and went on his way.

L turned up the volume.

Roberts held up his hand after a few minutes of the beating, and Morris took the cue and stepped back. The former walked into the light that shined pale on Rowley's slumped form. "I can stop this all, if you'll only cooperate."

Roberts and Morris were acting the classic 'good cop bad cop' psychological interrogative tactic. This was the point when Roberts would ask, genuinely, if Rowley would simply cooperate and spare them all. Morris would act eager to inflict more pain, perhaps say something about avenging those who died. Rowley would then desire Roberts's presence and would start opening up to keep him close.

"Be sure to start with simple questions," L reminded again into his microphone, which transferred his voice into a small earphone that both interrogators wore. "Yes or no, or a short answer. If you can do that, he is 80 percent more likely to volunteer the full story himself."

"_G-God!_" the man stuttered, blood dribbling down his face.

"_I will give you one more chance before we have to hurt you again,_" Roberts pressed, but calmly. "_Take a breath now and answer me – why did Frederick do it?_"

"_Because... God!_"

Rowley was shaking in his chains, wide-eyed. The man was a hardened mafia convict, but after a few hours of this he was cracking. That was good to know, but that also meant that even more strict delicacy had to be paid to the next few hours. If the interrogators did their job well, they could accomplish in one sitting what might otherwise take weeks.

Roberts sighed loudly, fishing out a cigarette from his pocket and retreating as he lit it. He inhaled sharply, turning away. "Take some more time to think about it, then."

"_No, wait! Wait-- _Ahhh!"

L turned down the volume, upon hearing a quiet footstep behind him. The noise had been loud enough that L had actually been anticipating Light hearing and, despite the adolescent pointedly avoiding him, he would come to see what was going on. L momentarily tried to convince himself that he hadn't been trying to get Light's attention on purpose, but then, he had requested that the interrogation be conducted in English so he was fairly certain that, rationalize as he might, he was deluding himself again.

Straining his keen ears, the detective could hear Light in the entrance, shifting slightly. Light would know that he had been heard, and even if he was incredibly childish he wasn't socially immature and wouldn't run away now. The only question remaining of this half-planned interaction was who would speak first.

L's voice was already leaving his throat but Light formed the words first.

"What you're doing to him – that's terrible." There was a straining to the steadiness of the youth's tone, which lead L to deduce that he was uncomfortable. The tone then raised into something accusing. "You are terrible."

"Ah, should we murder him with a heart attack?" L catechized. He stayed staring into Monitor 6, not turning away even to pluck a jellybean from a ceramic bowl beside him. "No... that won't protect Germany's citizens now. I am willing to do whatever it takes to solve a case."

A scoff. "L's methods for solving crime are admirable, as always."

L turned his neck to view Light behind him, gazing darkly at the teenager. When the detective's eyes met his, Light's eyes lit with burning embers and he caught the glare, returning it. L raised a finger and bit on his thumbnail. "Kira must know my methods well by now."

"I don't know a thing about you," Light snapped with surprising and sudden emotion, taking a step closer offensively. "The only thing I know is that you have no boundaries, and you don't know when to quit!"

Immediately, L was on his feet with cat-like agility. Though he tucked his hands into his pockets, they twitched with the sudden desire to make fists. "Drop the self righteous act, Yagami-kun, because I don't buy it. You are not incomparable to me. The difference is only that I have federations of citizen-elected governments and agencies to approve my actions, and you are nothing more than a rebel."

A foot pounded into the ground as Light advanced another step, jamming a thumb in the direction of Rowley, who was screaming out in the moments he had breath. "If this is the law-enforcement at its most righteous, then the world needs a revolution more than ever."

"A revolution?" The word mocked quietly out of L's breath. The detective held up a pair of fingers. "There are just two reasons why Light Yagami is bothered by what he sees. The first is that he wants to convince me, and perhaps himself that he is the same person that he was when he was not Kira. He fools himself, as ever, that he has inherited his father's nobility, that good cannot be done if sacrifices must be made – at least providing they aren't on his own insolent terms. And the second reason..."

L's voice lowered softly, it was slow and dark as a shadow of a predator looming. "... The second reason is that Yagami-kun has deduced that it would have been _him_ in the monitor if I had not interfered."

Light was undoubtedly able to infer this for himself, however, the words blatant and out loud left him stricken.

"But I should inform you that had I delivered you to Interpol, you wouldn't be in Rowley's position," L went on. He hesitated only to bask in Light's silence, before continuing mercilessly. "In fact, it would've been much worse for you than that."

The adolescent didn't answer.

"If circumstances had allowed for that scenario, I would have supported it, too," he admitted as he observed the sanguinary prisoner coolly. "Light Yagami, you are the worst single-handed murderer in human history."

"...You son of a bitch."

The crude language made L raise an eyebrow. Light rarely swore, and L knew that the disciplined Soichiro Yagami had raised his son to have a clean mouth. This indicated that L had hit some nerves just hard enough to pierce a barrier, and the wrath was going to explode out.

Sure enough, Light swept forward and grabbed the collar of L's shirt, standing over and snarling down at the detective. "You _arrogant son of a bitch! _I'm only here because you want a damned_ trophy!_ So what am I, your greatest conquest that you feel the need to showcase your victory to both me and yourself?!"

_You are my greatest conquest... _Calmly, mechanically, L replied. "Correct."

Saying that, he anticipated that Light would be pushed over the edge and punch him. It was annoying that L had felt the need to be impertinent and insult the younger man for the purpose of angering him (further), but he was also aware that Light was going to continue to sulk about the other evening until he had some manner of revenge. Thus, L allowed the fist to connect with his cheek and knock him backwards with painful force. Even with handcuffs on, the adolescent still punched ferociously.

After carefully avoiding falling on any computer equipment, he sprung up into a crouch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now are you happy?"

Evidently not, as Light hoisted his knee upward to crash under L's jaw and throw his head back.

L had been more than fair, as far as he was concerned, in allowing Light one hit. He bulleted the palm of his foot forward and snapped it against the youth's stomach, sending him in the opposite direction. "An eye for an eye, my friend."

"We aren't even," the youth thundered, recovering himself quickly. "We're nowhere close to being even!"

"I suppose," L sighed. "You still have many favors to owe me for sparing your life."

A fist whizzed through the air as Light punched again. L sidestepped, crouching down, and only felt the brunt of the blow against the top of his shoulder.

Brazilian Capoeira was a highly acrobatic martial art, and had always been something that came natural to L. He had honed his abilities, studying the logistics of footwork and weight distribution. L knew his own body, and he knew Light's – darting forward and sweeping a leg through Light's ankles easily caused the youth to drop. Without two free hands to balance himself, Light was helpless when he tumbled to the ground. If someone like Light Yagami could ever be called 'helpless', at least.

The brunette tried to immediately regain himself by standing, but L pounced on him.

"You should stop fighting me, Light-kun," L said, struggling to pin the resisting youth down to the ground. "It's obvious to both of us that you're at a severe disadvantage with the handcuffs."

Mocking the teenager while he was down had been something that L had experimented with a number of times in a number of situations and it always yielded the same result: Light would find a way to turn the tables. It might have been better to keep his mouth shut, but remaining silent around the teenager had never been something he was good at. Like a vicious predatory beast, Light sprung up to liberation and punched again. The force of it brought L down to the floor, and rabidly, Light took the pin.

Light grabbed L's throat, wrapping his two hands around it and lifting L's head. "You bastard! Why'd you do it?!"

"Why did I kick you?" L asked uselessly. Seeing the expression on the younger man's face, L leered, lips curving slightly into a smile. "Or, why did I kiss you?"

Silence, only seething silence followed.

"...If you want revenge, Light-kun, then I suppose..." L felt coils of some kind of terrible amusement rippling up inside of him, and he smiled through the darkness with eyes lit up behind shadows of hair. "You will have to kiss me back."

A jolt of electricity surged through Light's expression, eliminating the vengeful acrimony and widening his eyes to surprise. But a man like Light Yagami was never surprised for very long, and his features narrowed again from the venom of hatred. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment – an observation only made from meticulous study of the flickering gold in his eyes – and slowly he began to lower his face.

Right then, L questioned not only their sanity, but sanity as a concept – what it meant, what it could possibly mean, during an incomprehensible moment like this. Once again, L was challenging Kira, daring him to continue a game that was, or should have been, already over. Because no one else in the world played it like Light Yagami. To the victor goes the spoils of war.

Light was so close that L could feel his breath, before suddenly he lifted up. Angrily, he shoved back, the crimson tinting his cheeks redolent of the blood-red of murder flooding his eyes.

"What's the matter, Kira?" L prodded softly, alluding to his first challenge to Kira. "Can't you do it?"

"After all of this time I've known you, I-" Light started to say, but he and L both were silenced by Monitor 6, when a familiar word spilled from a crying prisoner's mouth.

"_What's that? Say it again,_" Roberts demanded on the screen, a note of eagerness bringing his voice to speed. "_Goddard told you to look for _who_ among the Interpol hostages?_"

Rowley let out a broken sob, distorting his words. "_Watari. Someone named Watari!_"

_"When the strike of the hawk breaks the body of its prey it is because of timing." _  
_-Sun Tzu_

In the countryside of Winchester, England, in the patch of birch trees stood a small chapel. The chapel itself existed prior to the orphanage it neighbored, but had been abandoned by the time Wammy's House was built. Whether or not God existed in this church was a matter left for each orphan to decide, but these days it was always in use one way or another by the children.

At least, it had been until recently.

"C'mon, Matt," a blonde orphan clad in black sweatshirt and jeans pressed. At fifteen years of age, his attitude and style might have suggested that he was a mere teenage punk, however this assessment appeared to clash significantly with the heavy textbooks that he carried. "Walk any slower and you'll be going backwards."

His younger companion, who was more interested in his handheld gaming console than the path in front of him, grumbled. "I don't get why you can't just study in the library like everyone else, Mello."

"Because I hate studying with people around," the first orphan, Mello, declared as he lead the way down the grassy path.

"Then I don't get why you're making me come along."

"Because you move as much as a rock anyway, playing your damned video games," the blonde snapped, uttering an ambiguous statement that might have been an insult or a compliment. "Keep up with being a sessile organism and maybe you won't annoy me."

"Yay." Matt yawned and glanced up from his game only because he vaguely recalled that there were stairs to get to the door and he didn't want to trip. They had arrived at the chapel, and, unlike usual, there were no swarms of kids playing hide and seek or tag. Noting this with mild interest, Matt ventured a guess. "You just sound like a dumbass when you lie."

"What the hell would I be lying about?" Mello asked, stopped at the stone steps so that the slower-moving Matt would catch up with him before entering the wooden door.

The darker haired youth dug his eyes back into his game, nearly tripping on a stone step as he followed along impassively. "'Cause you're sc-"

"I am not scared."

"Dude, you heard those kids weepin' about how they heard a ghost here," Matt accused with a great act of boredom, whilst looking up again because Mello had a nasty tendency of exploding into violence when he was displeased (which was most of the time, considering his issues with Near and all). "I was in the room when they came screaming and bitching that they heard a voice here."

"I don't believe in ghosts," the blonde claimed vehemently, tossing open the wooden doors and stomping inside the old building to prove his point.

"I do," the other shrugged with indifference. "I'm just not scared of 'em. I know how to kill them."

"You can't kill a ghost, moron. They're already dead."

Matt quickened his pace to catch up with the blonde teenager, who was strutting boldly onward. A good argument was sure to slow him down. "Yeah you can. You can, you know, exorcise them. All you need is some white magic, or a cleric. Fuck, you're a Catholic, you should know this shit!"

"White magic?" Mello repeated incredulously, as though he couldn't imagine that his game-obsessed friend would actually utter such a thing. "You loser. Anyway, I don't believe in ghosts, I told you already!"

"There you go lying again, man! I hear you chanting on at night about some Holy Ghost and Jesus and whatever."

"You're such an idiot. The Holy Ghost is part of the Trinity. It's another name for God, got it?"

"...So God is haunting this church?"

"For chrissake, no, God does not _haunt_. This ghost isn't God!"

"Then you do believe in the ghost?"

"No! I only meant if, in the hypothetical and highly unlikely situation that there is a stupid ghost scaring the kids, that wouldn't be God."

"How do you know? Shit, if I were God I'd have loads of fun-"

"Shut the hell up and play your damned game!" Mello snarled, clomping his boots forward down the aisle of pews.

The older orphan was scouting for an ideal place to study, preferably without dust or rat feces or whatever else an abandoned building acquired over the years. Distastefully, Matt thought it might not be a bad idea to bully some of the younger kids into cleaning the place up, but if Roger, the manager of Wammy's House, found out (again), he would throw a fit. If he ignored the stuffy smell, Matt was absolutely fine with obeying the Mello's humble suggestion to game. He focused his attention back down on the screen, following Mello out of the corners of his eyes.

All was going smoothly and when the blonde halted, Matt assumed that he had decided upon a worthy spot to park his ass. When a short shriek of disdain accompanied the stop, Matt snapped his head up and immediately assumed that the ghost was real. When the shriek strung out into a growl, Matt knew that the flash of pale white was none other than the very human (or so it seemed, sometimes) Near.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mello demanded, trying to look threatening with his arms wrapped around the stack of school textbooks.

Near was the color of the snow. When Matt had came to Wammy's House, he initially thought that the pallid boy was shy, bashful and quiet. However, that perception altered the moment that Near's eyes caught his own. As the youth's hands were toying with a model airplane, his dark eyes were toying with Mello's face. They picked it apart like an old scab, and then Near turned back to his plane, running the wheels along the wood of the pew.

The younger boy didn't answer. His expression showed no indication that he intended to answer, it was bored and uncaring. Perhaps he intended to ignore Mello, or perhaps he planned for this – but a moment later, a girl's voice sounded.

"Yikes!" It was a yelp of surprise, but was shortly followed by, "Oh, false alert! It was just a mouse..."

"Linda's here?" Matt asked with interest, as he currently held no ill feelings toward anyone. The girl was the type to prefer large groups of people, except for the times that she shut herself in her room to draw pictures. She was one of those daydreamers more than anything else. Though, Linda did like to hang around Near, but if they had sneaked off to this church together for a date or something it didn't look like it was going well.

"That's right," Near affirmed, soaring his plane through the air. "She asked me to come here with her."

"Then I'm asking you to leave," Mello griped. "You're the last person I wanna see here."

That was more or less the truth, Matt supposed, and the boy would probably sooner have Kira hanging in the church than Near. There was no way that Mello would be able to study if his superior rival was close by – the reminder of no matter how hard he tried, Near was better than him and therefore the one in line to become the next L. Matt imagined that it must suck to have defeat constantly rubbed in one's face, which is why he chose the path of apathy – or, as he put it, not giving a shit.

Near smiled with what appeared to be innocent affection. "But I'm glad that Mello is here. Maybe you can help us."

Linda appeared, running from the far end of the aisle. She stopped and put her hands on her knees, panting, when she met. "Hey Mello, hey Matt! I'm glad you're here!"

"Yo." The gamer finished saving his file, and as such was more willing to participate in conversation. "So what's up?"

"I was curious, that's all," Linda said, catching her breath. "Everyone said they heard a ghost last night, so I wanted to check it out. Since Near... wants to be a detective..." Here, she paused, well aware of the rivalry between Near and Mello for the top detective position, and then she cleared her throat and continued at a quicker pace. "I decided to ask him to come peek around with me. Isn't that why you guys are here?"

"Hell no. You think that Calculus book of Mello's is ghost busting equipment?"

"Shut up," Mello snapped. His mood, if it had been sour before, was a black hurricane now. "Grow up! You don't seriously believe in ghosts, do you?"

Linda quieted unhappily at the harsh tone, and Near looked unaffected as usual. The pale boy frowned slightly, studying an imperfection on his model plane, and then said, "My rationality denies the existence of supernatural beings, however, if evidence suggests to me otherwise I find no use in being stubborn."

Matt wasn't quite certain that Near meant it as an insult or simply an observation, but Mello was quick to interpret it as the former. "What's that you said?! How about you look at me and say it again?!"

"And what would be the benefit of repeating myself when we're all aware that you both heard and understood my words the first time?" Near's voice had lacked emotion before, but now it was cooling into distaste. But in a moment, he came across completely indifferent again. "You may help Linda with her investigation if you like, or you may study. You won't bother us."

"You'll be bothering _me_!" Mello raged. "I get so sick of your smug face, just having you around pisses me off!"

Well, at least he was being honest.

"Instead of thinking about me," Near countered smoothly, "perhaps you should be more focused on your studies."

"Ha.." Mello chuckled, the dangerous kind of chuckle that made Matt step backwards and fish in his pockets for a cigarette. Sure enough, Mello lunged forward and grabbed a handful of Near's white cotton shirt and pulled him upward so that their faces were inches apart. "Listen to me, Near. I _am_ going to be the one to succeed him, if it's the last thing I do. And you'll be the one who loses. I promise it."

Near looked agitated, but in a bored way that suggested his greatest concern was that with Mello grabbing his shirt, his range of arm movement decreased and that made for poor playing with an airplane. The younger boy turned to meet Mello's seething face, and simply said, "then you had better go study."

The snide remark, if carelessly delivered, struck a nerve with Mello. Mello was always studying, dedicating himself fully to improvement and giving his all into the hope of becoming the next L. No one doubted that Mello was intelligent, and if effort and aspiration defined a good student, Mello was the best at Wammy's House. But Near never studied, he played with his toys and he surpassed.

"It'll be me, you hear?!" the passionate youth shouted, shaking Near with his fist. "I'm going to be L!"

"_No_," came a hiss.

All surprised eyes turned to Linda, the girl who had given up at competing for L's title when she was ten. She now stood in an awkward slump, her back arched downward, but her face was up. Her large blue eyes were dulled, staring vacantly at the stain glass windows ahead.

"_It is me who is going to be L_," Linda declared in a strained voice, and then fell forward onto the ground. Her eyes were closed and she did not move.

_"We are all guilty of everything."_  
_ -Herbert Huncke_

"Interesting," Jastin, who had no idea that such a thing was possible (and why would he have bothered trying?), admitted. "But what's the point? Aren't you just going to fade away soon anyway, like you were supposed to in the beginning?"

The creature howled with laughter.

_-TBC..._

* * *

Author's notes:

1. Sorry for the slower update (yeah, how can I say that when Pandora and Desideratum haven't been updated since like, November? heh but they are coming I swear!). Thanks to everyone supporting this fic and sending me reviews to remind me to update. It's very flattering.

2. Special thank you to DN author Quillian for sending me a huge list of awesome quotes to use!

3. I'm finding everyone's responses to this story really interesting. It's fascinating the broad range of opinion in the feedback concerning the way that L and Kira work. Some of you have told me that you have little sympathy for Light, and want him to reform and forswear Kira. Some of you have told me you disagree with Kira but you pity Light now and find L to be cruel. And then, some of you have told me that you're pro-Kira and you find L to be the corrupt one. I appreciate what everyone has said about the topic, and I've read them with pleasure.

Thank you for reading! -Serria


	9. Palette Splattered

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 9**

Disclaimer: I'm only a fan.

**Palette Splattered **

* * *

"_He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument."  
-William Shakespeare_

_Ding-dong!_

L was a habitually light sleeper, a fact which was possibly either a direct result of his restless occupation or the trait that had made him so successful at said occupation in the first place. Though his nature was influenced greatly by the vast amount of sugar and caffeine he consumed regularly, there were some people in the world that simply required minimal sleep and L Lawliet was one of them. A doctor of his younger days described his condition accurately as severe insomnia, but that was a label that the detective himself disliked due to the negative connotations. After all, his ability to function at a high cognitive level for long periods at a time was nothing less than a benefit for solving cases.

Also, hearing the doorbell for room service.

Glancing at the clock on his computer, L read the time as 7:15 in the morning. He had called in to the kitchen down at the base of the building about sixteen minutes ago, which was fine but left the cook's time-efficiency definite room to improve. L sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and peeling himself off of the armchair in the parlor that he had been stationed on for his brief recess.

As he stood up and hunched forward, he turned his eyes slightly for any evidence of Light, though L already knew well that Light was in his room and probably asleep at this hour. The adolescent had taken to avoiding him again, which was just fine since L had better things to do than waste time quarreling. It was bothersome, and L found his head hurting enough from strain without having his hot-tempered housemate punching it.

He punched in the password at the thick metal door that served as a highly secured exit to this particular floor, and leaned forward with his head to let the scanner examine his retina. With identity confirmed, the door unlocked and L shoved through it to where there was an elevator that serviced only the top floors of the building that L used and an emergency staircase. He opted for the elevator, which took him down to the 50th floor, the lowest in his block and, for appearances, a normal looking, if richly furnished, apartment.

Granted, he surmised as he made his way to the main door where the room service awaited, Light didn't exactly have a bad reason to be angry. L recognized that there was some wisdom in Quillsh Wammy's advice to keep boundaries and not break them. Of course, L had (somewhat) intended to keep boundaries back during the investigation when he held Light as a suspect, but those intentions were worn very thin when L allowed himself to become emotionally involved in the Kira case – and in Light.

Besides, it wasn't like Light wasn't emotionally involved, too. If anything, the younger male was more emotionally involved than he himself was. If Light had actually wanted to keep boundaries with L then he wouldn't be jumping at opportunities to fight or drop snide insults. Unhappy with his situation or not, if Light had wanted he would devise an act and keep it up with determination until L trusted him (a rare chance but something to shoot for nonetheless), while secretly plotting some grand escape; essentially, totally detaching himself from personal feelings. Light knew that he couldn't manipulate L, at least not like he manipulated everyone else, and that had him seething when he wasn't moping about.

The more the days went by, the more complacent Light would become – until he realized that he was getting complacent, in which case he would do what he could to piss off L just to prove he was still Kira. Ironically, L thought while unbarring the lock and opening the door, there was a good chance that Light relished those fights. L didn't doubt for a moment that Light wanted revenge at every second that went by, not only for L's victory but for the perceived insult of, well...

L decided not to tell Wammy, upon the man's return from Germany, that he kissed Light those few days ago. There was a 99 percent, no, make that a flat-out 100 percent chance that he would not be thrilled. He had never been pleased that the pair had been close during the investigation, though he kept his peace and understood the complexity of the circumstances, but whereas the old man had admitted to being fond of the Yagami boy back then (even to the point of suggesting that Light be given a position in open communication with Watari and L at Interpol, when he finished college and joined the Japanese police) now he was quick to point out reasons why he was better off hanged and done with.

"Mr. Howard!" the room service, an attractive blonde girl named Sally greeted with vigor. Officially, L's alias here was of a mysterious but highly successful novel writer who used some pen name, identified by no one, on his published works. That did well to explain why 'James Howard' was so rich and liked to keep to himself, and, conveniently enough, no one questioned his peculiar habit of ordering the entirety of the dessert menu almost daily, because authors apparently were naturally quirky. Due to his alleged fame, the room service workers had a habit of jumping at the chance to deliver his orders, no matter what the hour.

"Good morning, Sally," L said with a polite smile. "How are you?"

"I'm fabulous!" she chirped, twisting a yellow curl in her painted fingernail. "How is your next novel coming? And... what happened to your face?"

Sally looked alarmed as well as eager to keep the conversation going, and L frowned. He preferred Watari here if for no other reason than to take care of this sort of thing, but he supposed that his partner was more useful in Berlin at the moment. L gave some excuse about tripping down the stairs, something any respectable detective would laugh at, but the lame excuse appeared to appease the girl. He took the cart, which was filled with a rainbow of gelatins, pies, cakes and cheap but well sugared American candy, and rolled it back up the private elevator.

Speaking of Wammy, L decided to get an update, so he wheeled the dessert cart into his computer room and called for direct connection.

Wammy answered quickly, which meant that he wasn't busy. A direct visual connection was opened, but only one-way – L preferred to see people when he spoke to them, but he didn't like to reciprocate the privilege. They could never be too cautious, especially with so many government officials around Watari, and the last thing L wanted was his face exposed to Interpol.

"There is very little to direct here, and it's nothing that the German government can't handle itself," Wammy reported simply, sitting at a desk in an unbothered hotel room. "There's public distress over the attack, obviously, but I myself cannot do anything to remedy that besides vow that L will get to the bottom of it and see any involved perpetrators punished."

"Yes, I know," L agreed, helping himself to strawberry-swirl cheesecake with a small fork. "I was hoping that something would turn up if you stayed, since apparently Goddard was looking for you."

"I'm not easy to find even when Interpol knows my location," Wammy pointed out truthfully.

"I didn't expect another round of terrorists to go after you, I was merely hoping that they would do _something_ and then you could be there to overlook the action." L glowered, chewing his cake noisily and hunching forward to the monitor all the more. "But that's fine. We have a possible lead in America, since there's a 70 percent chance that our terrorists uncovered the Interpol meeting's date and location through torturing police chief George Fletcher to death."

"His murderers weren't German."

"I know that."

L hadn't meant to come across sounding so annoyed, and in truth he really didn't have a good reason to snap at his Watari. It was bothersome, yes, that L was chasing a case that lacked any kind of direction – it could be an isolated incident or it could be a conspiracy, and if the latter were true than he wanted to be assertive in investigation as early as possible. But that wasn't really it, and both he and Wammy knew it.

Wammy sighed, and though he never lost his dignified airs of an English gentleman, L knew when the man had had enough. "Where is your guest?" He avoided saying either "Light Yagami" or "Kira" in the off chance that someone was spying on him, but more than anything he emphasized the noun of choice with mildly concealed displeasure: a mockery more to L, really, than to Light himself.

"Please mind your own business," L growled. "And I'll take care of mine."

"Then take care of it," he commanded firmly, sensing civil unrest in a place beyond Berlin. "Or when I return, I will."

Sometimes that man seemed to forget that L wasn't eleven years old anymore, and L didn't appreciate the tone that could easily have said something along the lines of 'you better take out the trash or God help me when I get back!' Which, in L's youth, had always turned into the 'God help me' bit because he had never done his chores at Wammy's House, but 'God' ended up being the headmaster Roger Ruvie, who decided that L's time was better spent doing... whatever it was that L did on his own, since Roger couldn't keep up with L but was assured his activities were probably productive, if nothing else. (L was 95 percent certain that Wammy had never forgiven Roger for the attitude that L, as a result, had a tendency to cop, but quite frankly he never had a great respect for Roger either.)

L decided to change the subject to prove he didn't care what Wammy was threatening. "Have the police found any clues in the rubble?"

"I'll contact you the moment they do," he answered. "There's a lot of rubble to be sorted, after all, and they are still prioritizing identifying the victims for grieving families. And once that is done, what do you expect to find?"

"I'd like pieces of the explosives so that we can identify where Goddard acquired it from." L finished off the breakfast cheesecake, and unsatisfied with the slim serving, he stood up to find himself another piece. "But if Goddard was always planning on committing suicide and setting off the bomb no matter what we did, then I have a feeling that there must be a clue inside and intact."

"Very well. I'm going to go relay that to the Head of Inspection here. Oh, and L?"

"Yes?"

"_Take care of it_."

"The Youth gets together the materials to build a bridge to the moon,  
Or perchance a palace or temple on earth,  
But alas, at length, the middle aged man concludes to build a wood shed with the materials."  
-Henry David Thoreau

"_You know, Ryuk, if the deal was for your wings rather than your eyes, I might have actually considered giving you half my lifespan."_

"_Eh? You want wings?"_

"_To have wings and fly at will through the skies...It's godlike, isn't it? It's a dream human beings have had since antiquity."_

"_But Light, if you sprouted wings and started flying around, people would notice you. The cops would catch you just for that."_

"_Ha, ha... I was only kidding, Ryuk."_

The door to the balcony had been left unlocked, and Light pressed open the bullet-proof glass doors with his fingertips. The wind was whispering ice, and the temperature was as frigid as it always seemed to be here. Colder than Tokyo had ever been, with its pale snows that blended into the colorless sky. Crystals of white had blown onto the floor of the balcony, and it burnt cold at Light's bare feet. At least, that must have been the case, for rationality would decree. But Light was distracted, lost in the blitzkrieg of his mind.

What a curious, almost inconceivable thought it was. The memory of the Shinigami that had been his strictly neutral but mutually entertaining companion felt almost like something he had dreamed, some twisted fantasy where heroes sacrificed and villains schemed and magic blurred the walls of logic. All of the memories were losing their vividness, and to think. The fate of the world had once been in the palm of his hand. The persona had been feared and loved. Kira reigned over the world. Kira _was_ the world.

Kira was the world to Light.

If only Ryuk had been able to give his feathery Shinigami wings after all. Light closed his eyes, leaning his upper body over the edge of the balustrade, wondering what Ryuk felt every time he sprouted them from his back. Convenient, how precisely convenient it would be to take a leap into the sky and escape – but to what? To where? Wings weren't going to take him to vengeance, in reality he didn't have a place to go, in the air and on the earth both.

After spending enough time locked up and cut off from the world, it's easy to get lost.

"_But you know, if I did start making those kinds of deals with you, I'd end up becoming a real Shinigami. That'd be pretty interesting."_

"_Don't worry, Light. Even without doing that, I'd say you make a fine Shinigami."_

"_Hm... from what you've told me, I sure seem to be working a lot harder than the other Shinigami from your world... but don't get me wrong. I am _not _like you."_

"_...Oh?"_

"_I'm using the Death Note as a _human being, _and _for _human beings!"_

Light should have died. He wasn't an idiot, in fact, he had been more than aware of the possible consequences of his actions. He did not desire death, just like he never desired imprisonment, but it had been such an easy risk to take when he vowed to reign as Kira in the security of his bedroom. A risk but a necessity, only dangerous if he failed. Now, by some mystery of circumstance and L's own agenda, he had avoided the death penalty. But everything that he had spent his life striving for was confiscated and he lived in limbo.

The life he had lived and the wings that had carried him were gone. All that was left were memories and L, a hatred and a feeble hope. The only other thing was the sickened churn of his stomach, a feeling not unlike being heartbroken. It was the genuine sadness he felt for himself, for L, for Kira and for everything that he would never have again.

But today was going to be the last day that he mourned himself.

A day like today called for a strict obligation that he meant to uphold – the marker for the end of living in the past, and looking with both eyes straight ahead. He could go on feeling sorry for himself for forever and accomplish nothing. If the things that he held dear were gone, so be it, there was no point any longer in wishing that things had worked out differently. He had grieved, and though it might never be enough, he had to let go and start over.

It was the only sort of respect he was able to pay himself on his February 28.

His 19th birthday.

"Light-kun?"

He didn't glance back to meet L who was approaching from behind. Light had wanted some time alone to silently celebrate his birthday, but though the pair had hardly exchanged words over the previous few days, L certainly had made a habit of messing up Light's plans.

"Yes?" Light responded after a moment.

There was a pause, and a ruffling sound through the wind. "Why don't you come inside? You'll catch a cold out here."

That didn't sound like a command, and L would have been more blunt if he were trying to indicate that there was work to be done. So Light continued to watch the wintry city below, suppressing a shiver.

Light was fairly confident in his ability to quite literally give the cold shoulder and indicate that he wanted someone to go away without even uttering a word. He was also fairly confident that the smug bastard did indeed get the message, but didn't actually care. If L was planning on repeating what happened the last time they were on the balcony together... The deliberate insult began to breed a wrath inside of him, and though he had wanted to keep to himself on his birthday, L had an extraordinary tendency to make Light rather yell at him or punch him or both. Probably both.

But before he could even turn around, there was suddenly a weight on Light's back. It startled him out of his rage and he shifted around to see L now standing right by him. The detective had a thick black blanket in his outstretched arms, and was draping it over Light's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Light demanded before he could stop himself, words coming out in an accusation instinctively.

L's face was blank as he adjusted the blanket, wrapping the edge around Light's neck and letting the rest fall, cloaking him in a sheet of warmth against the cold. The older man held the sides of the cloth together in the front at Light's chest. "Can you take this?" he asked.

Rendered obedient because of surprise, skepticism and comfort all alike, Light took the ends of the covering in his own hands. He shifted slightly to better face L, but L was no longer facing him anyway. The detective had his hands in his pockets and hunched over the balustrade. He wasn't looking at the city, however, his wide eyes were too glazed to have been focused on anything. If it was something, then L seemed to be watching the entirety of the visible sky.

It was still for awhile, and though they weren't speaking, Light was more than aware of L's presence beside him. He shifted his own feet to prevent them from going numb, but L was totally motionless. Even though he only wore a loose pair of jeans and white shirt, L looked as though he had developed some kind of immunity to cold or discomfort. Perhaps that was what happened, when one lived his life in solitude.

"I understand," L finally stated.

"...Huh?" Light woke from his contemplations and turned to L with uncertainty.

"It's only natural." Snowflakes were falling in the detective's dark hair as he leaned into the sky, and they glistened with the same melancholy that seemed written into his listless eyes. "I have a lot to be blamed for and I deserve that. So do you."

There was a pause, but not for wait of an answer – momentarily, L seemed lost in whatever he was thinking.

"Things might have happened differently. The possibilities are creative, but we would have inevitably parted ways. Sooner, or maybe later, you yourself would have been no more no matter what the outcome..." The detective's voice grew fainter, almost inaudible, and Light wasn't entirely certain that L's words were directed at him. "It would be sad, wouldn't it."

"You have nothing to be sad about," Light finally said.

"I'm sorry." The words came suddenly, softly, not as an action but as L's description of a feeling. "It was the only compromise that I was able to make."

The way that the sentence dropped off left the implication that L wanted to say more but let it end.

Light's eyes drifted from L's face and to the pillar behind him. He was pardoned from awkwardly trying to piece together a response when L turned back to the door.

"Let's go inside. It's cold, isn't it?"

"_We turn not older with years, but newer every day."  
-Emily Dickinson_

Toes could to numb if kept cold long enough, and during the balcony excursion Light's feet had eventually yielded to apathy. But, oddly enough, when they were given mercy as Light stepped inside the parlor against the relative warmth of the wooden floors, they burnt from chill like embers. Hissing under his breath, he stopped paying attention to L in favor of planting himself on one of the parlor's couches and rubbing his feet with his hands to warm them again. Redeeming them from the ice they had basked in was painful, but his thoughts proceeded to steal his attention away.

"Light-kun, take this."

Light raised his eyes just in time to see a glint of gold sail through the air in his direction. Instinctively, he raised his hands to catch whatever it was before it collided with his face. When the threat was neutralized he snapped his gaze toward L, who was perched comfortably on the maroon cushions of the couch facing him several feet away.

With a curled knuckle loosely nested between his lips, L's face was half concealed by his own hand. His head sat between his knees and he hunched over. The dark eyes watched him impassively through a covering of unkept black hair. It was difficult to discern exactly what was on L's mind, in fact, he seemed in a pensive trance similar to Light himself.

Light looked down at the metal object resting in his fingers. It was a wristwatch, the deep color of sun-ripen gold. The band coiled elegantly with rectangular brackets, each side meeting in the center where the watch piece connected. Hardened glass lay over engraved roman numerals encircled the center, and three thin needles ticked proudly for time keeping. Inside the outer ring were smaller rings, keeping the date and the day.

"It's yours, if you want it," L droned with little volume. "You can keep it or do with it whatever you feel like."

Quickly he hid his surprise in favor of attempted indifference. He hardened his face to meet L's again, to soak in those inky irises until he understood what his nemesis was trying to accomplish. L remained as still as a stone gargoyle except for the brief adjusting of his knuckle as he slipped it further into his mouth to bite on it.

Impatiently, Light prodded. "Well? What's it for?"

"I just told you, had you been listening you would know already," L answered with identical impatience. "I don't care what you do with it, it's yours now. It's merely a congratulatory gift for turning nineteen years old."

Though it was obvious that such a gift could only be a birthday present, this was L – everything he said, Light generally assumed to be untrue or manipulative unless he was given confirmation otherwise, and L had an equal perception of Light. Light didn't want to risk snaring himself in one of his rival's traps.

He looked at the watch again, turning it in his hands to better see it against the light, and then he looked back at L. The detective wasn't moving, he was simply observing while gnawing at his finger. He was evidently waiting for some kind of reaction, and Light was uncertain if there was something in particular that he was watching for. L curled his bony toes against the cushion and shifted his weight a bit, revealing to Light that the man was actually feeling awkward. The observation in turn made Light feel uncomfortable, like the silence was hanging limply between them instead of being tightly strung with heated understanding like it normally was now.

It was almost reminiscent of the first days of when they had been chained together as suspect and investigator, and as two young men.

The memories pulled at Light's mind, and the last of his frustration dwindled into sobriety. He turned back down to the golden device and broke the silence with smalltalk. "Is it real?"

L removed his finger from his mouth to speak and rested both hands on his knees. "It is not a fake watch."

"I mean, it looks as though it's very high quality..." It wasn't polite to bluntly make such an inquisition about a present, and Light's mother might have lectured him about the bad manners, but somehow rules of etiquette stopped applying where L was concerned. Genuine curiosity as to how much the thing was worth had sprouted within him, and though L always remained staunchly enigmatic when it came to his financial situation, he never outright lied about it for sake of modesty.

"Yes, it is. It's a collector's watch," L replied offhandedly as though he were reading off facts from the dossiers of another criminal suspect. "There are only fifty like it in the world. I thought it would look charming."

"You never struck me as a watch enthusiast." Still trying to place a rough estimate as to how much it was worth, Light balanced the fact that L had no need to spend large amounts of money on him with the fact that L didn't need to _not_, considering his seemingly infinite monetary resources.

"I meant charming on you." When Light raised an eyebrow in L's direction, the detective detached his tone and explained. "I assumed that you were accustomed to wearing a watch, since you never took off your old one even when, I presume, you memories were barricaded from knowing about Kira and the piece of the Death Note you kept inside it. I can't give you that watch back, but I can offer you a superior one."

Examining it with his fingers, Light turned the watch around and played idly with the knobs. He could still recall the day that his father had given him the old watch. It had been a graduation present. Soichiro Yagami hadn't been able to attend the ceremony due to being busy with work, and in attempt to make up for it, he had spent more money than he really should have on a present for his son. Though he had indeed used it as a tool while he had a Death Note, it did have a sentimental value. Light had relied on the fact that it had sentimental value to him when he forfeited his memories temporarily, and sure enough, when Light had touched the notebook finally, the watch had been still coiled around his wrist. By L's flippant use of the word "superior", Light doubted that the detective understood the concept past knowing the Webster definition by word.

There was no material item in the world that Light was aware of in which L took emotional comfort from. In fact, Light recalled L once telling him, he didn't even keep particular items for an extended period of time – new or upgraded versions were always purchased both for practicality and security. No, there was no way that anything existed to L as more than just a tool.

But on the other hand, Light thought with uncertain hesitation, had L given this watch with sentimentality?

"You don't like it?" L asked with unmasked disappointment.

"That's not it," Light said, clasping the watch in his hands. "I was only a bit surprised that this sort of thing crossed your mind."

The detective made an indignant grunt, as though it ought to be obvious and that Light should, by default, assume that any particular thing _had _at one recent point, indeed crossed his mind. Then, whatever mild humor that had been apparent in his facial expression disappeared. "But you still haven't affirmed that you like it."

When Light remained silent, L hastily broke it with a, "There is cake, too." He reached down toward the coffee table where the dessert sat on a glass platter. It was backwards, and he turned it around quickly so that it faced Light.

"There is always cake," Light answered wearily as he stood up, still gripping the watch. He could feel L's black eyes locked onto him, though the detective was still on his couch opposite from Light. Light suddenly felt a bit dizzy and even nauseous, which was odd considering he hadn't even had a piece of the glistening, sickeningly-sweet appearing chocolate cake that he now took specific notice of, with a sloppy "月くん、お誕生日おめでとう" decorated into the frosting. The handwriting was so wretched that of course it was L himself, and really, who else would it be? _Light-kun_, _happy birthday._

It was... strange. It was really strange. Light's mind raced for some kind of worthy explanation and the best he could come up with was that L wanted to end their current fight. But that theory didn't dismiss the outrageous suggestion that L wanted to keep pretending that they were friends, the same game they had played during the Kira investigation. What was the point of keeping up pretenses now when the only witnesses would be the people who knew more than anyone that is was a lie?

Was it because they enjoyed the lie? It certainly made things more simple - sort of. But if they both enjoyed it, a part of it was always going to be a reality. And if it was a reality, that was dangerous grounds until it could conveniently be reduced to a lie again when it was time to part ways.

"Thank you very much," Light finally said. "It was very kind, Ryuuzaki."

Light was turned away and he couldn't see L's reaction. When L said nothing immediately, Light proceeded to exit. Weariness had overcome him, as well as the corresponding desire to go to bed.

"Light-kun?" L suddenly spoke up. "Please don't leave yet."

_"Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,  
When it's so lucrative to cheat."  
-Arthur Hugh Clough_**  
**

The Shinigami realm was dim that day, which made that day quite similar to any other day. In the barren wastelands it was difficult to tell the difference between night and day in the first place simply due to a lack of movement aside from the occasional wind sweeping sands across the stones. But in the areas established as colonies due to a more interesting rocky landscape and accumulation of claimed junk, one could tell if the world was awake or not by the ratio of sleeping-to-awake Death Gods.

The Gods of Death would generally gather after their naps (a common event during which, on rare occasion, a more paranoid Shinigami would sneak to the Earth Spheres and jot down a human name or two, with no one watching to make fun of them for "trying too hard"). Sometimes if no one else was around, a pair of Shinigami might engage in a card game to kill time, but usually the gambling circles consisted of at least three gods. The more the better, but the inevitable problem was that they were rarely awake all at the same time.

On that day, under a dusty bridge of jagged rock, four Shinigami hunched over their cards. Their voices echoed across the waste, and it wasn't hard for Jastin to locate them.

"A Reaper and a Cyclops!" Gukku announced with a proud gurgle of his throat, tossing his cards onto the stone ground and rearing his head up. "Any challengers?"

Deridovely, who was Gukku's closest gambling buddy, smirked under his stone mask. "Get a load of this, Gukku," he teased, holding his own pair of cards in his webbed claws. The ranking cards of the Sickle and the Skull topped Gukku's own.

Gukku's horns snapped back into the air. "That's three times in a row you've beat me! There must be something wrong with these cards!"

Zellogi stood up, roaring with laughter and waving his hook-arm through the air. "Ha-ha! Pot goes to Deridovely again!"

"What are you so happy about? You lost an apple, too!"

"Gambling is only entertaining these days if _someone_ throws a hissy fit!" Zellogi grinned.

"Hey!" Gukku growled. "Put your bet where your mouth is, Zellogi! I say we double the pot next round!"

Deridovely chuckled. "I'm in for sure. I'm happy to take double fruit!"

Sidoh, whose eyes were drooping lazily, turned in his cards. "I'll just watch this time, guys."

"And here I thought we'd actually keep you awake for more than half an hour!" Zellogi scoffed. "I bet you'll turn into dust one day just because all you do is sleep!"

"I won't sleep. I promise, by my Death Note!"

"You've got no one fooled, Sidoh," Daridovely snickered, raising his hands in exasperation. "And you two boneheads are going to lose anyway. Where's the fun for me anymore? We gotta find another play-"

"Yo, Jastin!" Zellogi shouted, putting his hands on either side of his mouth to amplify the noise. "How'd ya like to... what is _that_?"

Jastin the Jeweled Skeleton arrived, in his usual stalking swagger that best showed off his fine collection of jewels, at the mildly entertained gathering of gamblers. He had figured that there would be some group awake, but it was just his luck that these four low-ranking idiots were all the hour had to offer. Well, no matter. The skinny creature that he had found in the garbage piles had wanted to gamble, and he was bound to make things entertaining.

"Deal us in the next round," Jastin demanded, taking a seat next to Gukku and waving his hand for the creature to do the same. "No stakes this time."

"Who are you?" Gukku demanded, staring at the creature under the dark eye sockets of his long skull mask. "Which colony did you come from?"

The creature, who was sitting with his knees up and his weight on the soles of his bare feet, widened his crimson eyes as though confused. "Do you suppose I'm a Shinigami?" he asked very softly.

Gukku snorted. "What else could you be?"

"He looks like a human," Sidoh suggested meekly, though Jastin couldn't say for certain if the Shinigami was actually awake.

"Shut up, Sidoh. Humans don't come to the this world! Right, Jastin?"

Jastin had spent enough time puzzling over the creature's existence here, and though he had decided that this thing was just the remnant of a dead human, accidentally fallen through the portals with other throwaways, and would fade away soon enough, he didn't feel like explaining his understanding of the situation to these nitwits. All he wanted to see is what really would become of the creature, because maybe, maybe when it finally died, he could pick out the crimson eyeballs from its skull and wear them for his own. The prize was enough for Jastin to humor it wherever it wanted to go.

"How do you play this game?" it quipped, turning its face around the circle of gamblers. "Is it poker?"

"They're playing two-card," the Jeweled Skeleton explained. "You'll catch on. Ranked card wins, Death Skulls top all unless your second card is the Apple. Do you want to hear the cards?"

"Death Skulls top all? That's good enough," it said. "I would like to play stakes."

"You don't have anything," Daridovely pointed out with a throaty laugh. "Look, you're completely naked!"

"That's the best time to gamble. But because nothingness is not a bet, I'll stake a favor. I'll do something for whoever wins, whatever they ask of me in boundary of practicality and goodwill."

"I don't want to bet a favor," Sidoh groaned, visibly displeased at the thought of being forced to get up and make the effort to do something, let alone something for someone else.

"You won't have to worry if you win," the creature reasoned. Before any more protests could be made, it gave a little smile and held out a hand. "I'll shuffle."

Zellogi handed the cards without complaint to it, and Jastin smirked to himself at that luck because all the Shinigami hate being the one to have to shuffle the cards. The creature did it well, surprisingly, with his nimble hands. When it noticed that everyone was looking at it, he smiled again and made conversation.

"How many Shinigami are in your colony?"

The Shinigami looked at one another, back and forth, until Gukku contemplated out loud. "How many of us _are _here now, anyway? Let's see, nobody has seen Jealous for awhile..."

"Jealous is dust," Jastin confirmed. At the dumbfounded looks he got, Jastin recalled that these boneheads probably hadn't read their rulebooks for hundreds of years, something they could get away with since they didn't do anything all day anyway and it was therefore impossible to break any rules. "Haven't you paid attention? He killed to save some human girl's life! Extending human lives is something that really ticks off the King."

"No!" Gukku and Daridovely both choked out, howling with laughter.

Zellogi had heard that already. "Right, and Rem chased after Ryuk, right?"

"Rem just gave the Death Note to the girl who Jealous saved," Jastin shrugged.

"And Ryuk is still with his own human pet," Daridovely chuckled. "What an idiot, getting his Death Note lost in their world!"

"I saw it in the Earth spheres," Zellogi said seriously to him. "His human pet is the one they call Kira, and he's literally writing the names of millions of criminals so that they all die of heart attacks."

"Of heart attacks?" the human creature repeated quietly, dealing the cards, two each.

"What the heck is a criminal?" Gukku asked Jastin.

"A bad person."

"A _bad_ person?"

"The ones he doesn't like."

That earned more uncontrolled shrieks of laughter, echoing like thunder off of the rocks. Gukku slapped a hand against the ground, Daridovely was falling backwards and Zellogi clutched his stomach. Even Jastin had to admit, the thought of a human with a Death Note was quite entertaining, like a Shinigami trying to be an apple tree. Jastin had kept an eye on the spheres out of idle curiosity, and never left unamused. It took a moment for Jastin to realize that the human creature was the only one not laughing, though its tiny smile was still plastered on its face, it looked disturbed.

"This is all happening on the human world?" it asked for confirmation. "You know, I died of a heart attack."

"You are a human!" Gukku roared from the fun of it.

"I hope all the humans who Kira kills don't turn up here. If there are millions I bet it would get crowded," Zellogi thought. "So Kira didn't like you then?"

The creature lowered its eyelids, creating a darkened scowl. "What's his real name?"

"Light Yagami." Jastin knew the name well enough from all the time he had spent looking in the spheres, and just to be more helpful he added, "He's in Japan."

"I don't know him."

"Well, don't be mad now. He's disappeared," he shrugged. When five faces snapped toward him, the Jeweled Skeleton realized they were all in the dark. They probably hadn't gone to the Earth spheres since the event happened. They could laugh about Shinigami turning into dust today, but their own times were bound to time out soon enough. With exasperation, Jastin cleared his throat. "Don't you know? Ryuk lost him! He's in a frenzy up there trying to find the boy. Personally, I imagine that L just won."

That earned a nod of recognition from the Shinigami, who were familiar with L and Kira if for no other reason than making fun of Ryuk was great gambling conversation. But the human creature's white face snapped toward him.

"You said L caught him?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I think so. And he must be still alive, too, because Ryuk is still stuck in the human world. I bet if Ryuk manages to find L, he'll find Light Yagami, too."

"I should like to meet Ryuk."

"Whatever, Ryuk is boring!" Gukku declared. "Let's play!"

They all lifted their cards and looked at what luck had given them.

"Fold," Jastin said at an Apple and a Scepter.

"Fold."

"Fold."

That left the human, Sidoh (who had his cards and might have folded if only he wasn't snoring) and Gukku (who was convinced that he was lucky even when his cards were rotten).

"You'd better fold," Jastin advised the creature, who had refused to even learn the card rankings.

"It's okay." The creature gave a wicked smile and revealed his cards. Two Death Skulls, on his very first try. What a lucky thing it was!

_"Kill a man and you are a murderer.  
Kill millions and you are a conqueror.  
Kill everyone and you are a god."  
-Jean Rostand_

"It wasn't that hard to find, but George Fletcher's killer, David Castleton, is actually part of a mafia group," Light announced, turning to L from his monitor's screen. The two young detectives sat on the floor of L's computer room, and the younger of the two was sprawled somewhat lazily on his stomach, upper body supported by his elbows. L could excuse this, as it was only 8:30 in the morning. The black coffee that Light was drinking wasn't scheduled to display its full effect for another ten minutes or so, but fully coherent or not, Light's cognitive abilities were admirable as usual.

Light's half lidded eyes flickered back to his screen where he had researched through various news articles the mystery at hand. "All the main goons use aliases. As far as I can tell, the mandatory use of alias by members developed after it became clear that I needed someone's name and face to kill them. I anticipated the brighter gangs to go through these lengths, the ones that have the resources to have their identifying files terminated, but with Misa's eyes that wasn't going to be a problem for me. Anyway-"

"I like it when you talk like Kira," L commented as he dunked a brightly colored cupcake into his own coffee, which was dyed a light brown from the high concentration of sugar and cream and now with the slightest tint of blueberry. "I find it invigorating."

"If I were talking like Kira I would say a few other choice words to you," Light said dryly, rubbing his eyes for focus. "_Anyway_, since these sort of mafia groups have survived, that's going to be our key between Florida and Berlin. Of course, what doesn't fit is the motives between the groups. If we're going to assume that Goddard's group in Germany had pro-Kira motives, then why would a mafia group who is definitely anti-Kira work with them?"

"Philosophical motivation aside, Light-kun must bear in mind the compelling power of money," the detective said, licking the vanilla frosting off of a artificially pink strawberry cupcake. "Goddard was a rich man."

"True," Light contended, pausing to sip at his steaming drink. "But the leader of the American group in question is a man going by the code name Rod Ross. Ross isn't even primarily stationed in Florida – according to these records, he's been primarily acting in New York, with connections to a crime syndicate in Las Vegas. Goddard could have paid Ross a lot of money to send men to Florida to kill Fletcher and get the information he needed on the Interpol meeting. But why Ross?"

"Fletcher was in New York City." Though L hadn't been the one working on the Fletcher case, he recalled the data from Light's notes. "He had just arrived back home when Castleton killed him. Perhaps Castleton missed the opportunity in New York and simply took the plane back to Miami with him."

"Didn't you transfer Castleton's custody to Interpol?" Light asked. "I imagine they gave him the same treatment as Anton Rowley, so don't you know why he did it already?"

"No, unfortunately. Castleton was murdered, before Interpol retrieved him. Probably one of Ross's other assassins to avoid just that." That had been an irritating turn of events, but it also indicated that Castleton wasn't acting alone or in a small group. If there was enough at stake for someone to want Castleton dead, then it was a large-scale organization that he and Light had to look into.

Unsurprisingly, Light didn't seem terribly concerned about the criminal's untimely demise. "How was he murdered?"

"Poison, somehow slipped into his food. I've sent investigators to the Miami prison to look for gang involvement but I feel like that's a dead end. The murderers wouldn't stick around to be caught."

Light lowered his upper body and his head so that his chin was resting on the palms of his hands, pressed against the wooden floor. He yawned, raising one hand to cover his mouth politely and then turning the hand to check the time on his wristwatch. "What do you want to do then, Ryuuzaki? Capture the mafia boss?"

"That won't be easy," L admitted with a frown. "Not only will it be more difficult to track him because he is using an alias, he is also a man who survives off of avoiding police."

"If you don't want to, then you have to rely on whatever comes out of Rowley's mouth."

"I never said that I didn't want to," he corrected firmly. "It will be a good opportunity to disband this mafia group, because if we do find evidence that Ross was involved, then this in an international terrorist crime."

"Which means you can employ Interpol and crush them?" Light correctly guessed.

"Yes." He looked at Light with a smile. "You're becoming a very good L."

The adolescent scoffed. "Not like it's difficult, you know."

"You find this easy?" L played along, sticking out his tongue and curling it to sweep up the bright frosting on top of a fresh cupcake. It filled his mouth but it wasn't thick, so it didn't significantly impair his speaking abilities. "Then what would you do next?"

"Set up a trap in New York City. Target one of Ross's elite men who would actually meet a stranger without bringing many, if any, bodyguards. Once we have one, use him to get to the head."

"You're also a natural _yakuza_."

"Thanks," Light yawned, draining his mug in a final gulp. "I need more coffee."

"And I need more cupcakes." L licked the frosting caked on his fingers thoughtfully, then trailed a wet fingertip on the plastic of the empty box to pick up loose sprinkles. "I was also thinking that setting up a trap in New York City would be the best course of action, but before we go into that, we still need to pinpoint the motivations of Ross and Goddard, and how they might correspond."

For a moment, Light studied his empty coffee cup and then he glanced L's way seriously. "I was thinking that maybe you – we, that is – might be thinking about this from the wrong angle."

"How do you mean?"

"Instead of assuming that this is about Kira, what if it's entirely about L?" After the words were out, Light's conviction hardened and he continued steadily. "What I mean is, the bombers specifically said they wanted something from you, and Rowley mentioned Watari. What if you're the one that someone is upset about?"

There was some plausibility to that, L had to admit, and at any rate the hypothesis was at least part true considering that Goddard had made statements directly targeted toward L before he blew up the Interpol building. There wasn't really any way to know for certain at this point. However, it wasn't long after when the call was made.

"_Ryuuzaki!_"

Watari's voice came from the speaker's of L's computer, distorted not by software but by the huffiness and haste of its tone. Recognizing the urgency, L immediately opened a mutual communication link, and the old man's face appeared in a browser filling his screen.

"What's wrong, Watari?"

"_I have been keeping communication with the Berlin police and requested that all suspicious items found in the rubble be reported directly to me. This box was recently uncovered._"

At that instant, Watari sent an image file to L's computer. It was a package of several photographs that the German police had taken of a single item, a steel crate no more than three cubic feet large. L grabbed his mouse and clicked through the images. There was a picture where a policeman was opening the crate, and another where he was lifting the lid. Everything was made thorough and from all angles so that nothing might be missed.

But the goal of the item was not in the crate itself. L knew this instantly when the contents of the crate where pictured,

"What..?!" The gasp escaped L's lips but he hardly heard himself.

They were dolls. They were dolls made of straw.

The next pictures showed the police taking out the dolls, lining them up in rows. Ten, twenty, thirty. Forty dolls, lined in eight rows of five, lined up in a warehouse like tombstones, the tribute to the dead. One for every person who was supposed to die in the Berlin bombing. Forty. Forty seconds until a heart attack, forty, a Japanese number of death, forty, these dolls were _wara ningyo _and L had seen them before.

"_Wara ningyo?" _Light noticed, recognizing the Japanese voodoo doll and now sitting up and leaning in front of L's monitor to see. "You know, they look just like the ones that Beyond Birthday nailed to the walls of the houses where he killed his victims. I saw pictures in the case file you had me read."

L had compiled those pictures, years ago, back when the Backup had challenged him, had dared him with a riddle that didn't have an answer. And if B had succeeded with his plans, then the riddle would have evaded him forever. But he hadn't succeeded, so how could it ...possibly...?

"Hey, you're pale," Light commented, turning to L. "More than usual. You look like you've seen a ghost."

But L was seeing a ghost, somewhere in his mind. He was seeing B crouched by the dolls that he had crafted, one after the other, and staring back at him, gaping, giggling, and still smelling of squirrel blood.

"Thank you, Watari," he finally said, breaking free of his wordless thoughts. _But I have no idea what's going on._

-

_-To Be Continued..._

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. My intention is to write this so that my readers do not need to have read _Another Note _to understand this story. Obviously B is from that novel, as well as his straw dolls, but I'm hoping that I haven't confused anyone who hasn't gotten their hands on it yet. Also, "wara ningyo" is what the straw dolls are called in Japanese. They are specifically what B makes in the novel, and they are sort of like voodoo dolls.

2. The number four, if pronounced as "shi" in Japanese, is considered a number of death (think _shi_nigami, the gods of death). Ohba says "shi" is actually the reason that she chose forty for the number of seconds before a heart attack (in Japanese,_ "shi-ju_"_). _

3. Apologies for those readers who do not have Japanese script in their computer and my Japanese turned up as boxes. 月くん、お誕生日おめでとう in romaji is "_Light-kun, otanjou-bi omedetou_".

4. Rod Ross – the codename for the leader of the same mafia that Mello enlists in the series during the second arc.

Thank you for reading! -Serria


	10. Kings and Pawns

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

**KINGS AND PAWNS**

* * *

"_The most profound things are inexpressible."  
-Jenny Holzer_

"What's with the expression?" Light demanded with a leer at L. "Do you really think Beyond Birthday's come back to haunt you?"

L tightened his toes, digging them into the floorboards with so much force that they turned white. "Should I reach that conclusion? I've been made to believe in murder notebooks and gods of death, so should I not believe in ghosts as well...?"

It was distasteful, adversaries or not, but Light laughed out loud. His total lack of concern was astounding, especially considering that it was he himself who had been dabbling in the supernatural more than anyone else, and somehow he had found the nerve to mock the notion of ghosts. The gleam in his amber eyes could have been interpreted in a thousand ways, but ultimately L supposed that Light simply found no reason to be alarmed no matter what the explanation for the _wara ningyo_ came to be. They were directed at L, not at him, and without L...

"If anything should happen to me," L reminded unhappily, "you have no more assurances that you'll be allowed to live."

Light's irises slid his way, and the cruel grin still twisted in his lips. "Calm down, I never said I wanted you to die. Well, not recently, anyway. I just think you've made up your mind a little early."

The detective lowered his attention down to his toenails as he clenched at the ground. They were getting long and uneven, and required trimming soon. Two had already tore. "I have very good instincts."

"Yeah, don't I know." The casual acknowledgment of his capture exemplified well enough Light's careless amusement. He chuckled again like the whole situation was theatrical, and then cleared his throat. "But why don't we look at this logically and maybe we'll find a clue. Even if your friend has somehow risen from the grave, it can't hurt."

"Logic has steadily began to lose all credibility to me."

"Someone else could have planted those dolls. There was plenty of publicity for the Los Angeles BB Murder Case, right?"

This wasn't totally true, as at the time the case had been considered minor in comparison to other crimes around the city. L himself wouldn't have looked twice at the case if the _wara ningyo _hadn't caught his eye and lead him to realize that Beyond Birthday was deliberately trying to get his attention. On the other hand, the murders and crime scenes had been investigated by a small police force and once Naomi had succeeded in arresting BB, details of the case were no longer classified information. "The question is how Los Angeles connects to Berlin."

Light raised a pair of fingers. "We know two facts: Los Angeles was a challenge to L from BB. Berlin is also a challenge to L."

"From the same man who has been dead for a year?"

"Someone who knew of B, anyway, well enough to understand the straw dolls were meant to directly confront you." Light curled his hands behind his head and leaned back into the floorboards, head angled just enough to keep his vivid brown eyes on L. "You knew him. Did he have any good friends?"

"...No, he didn't." L had vivid memories of B, even as a younger boy, distancing himself from the other children and opting voluntarily enough to play alone. The psychopath had been on reasonably close terms with his once-roommate, dubbed 'A', but after A committed suicide B halted what meager efforts he had previously made to make friends. The only other person that B actively tried to grow a relationship with was L himself, but that was a caricature of admiration if it meant anything at all.

It would be unfair, however, to state that B was a such a remarkable deviation from the other orphans at Wammy's House back when he resided there, at least for the most part. Many of the orphans were awkward and had enough peculiarities to send therapists running. A considerable number of them were also loners in their time before Wammy's House, and thus preferred to spend their free time alone. This wasn't such a strange thing, considering that some of these children had traumatic pasts prior to their enrollment, or if not terribly traumatic, some children simply don't adapt to losing their parents or being brought to such an intimidating institution as easily as others. When the recruiters for Watari's orphanages around the world looked for candidates, judging for emotional strength or psychological stability was a much more difficult task than gauging intelligence capacity. Furthermore, unlimited individual attention to each child couldn't be offered, as the place was closer to a school than a care-oriented foster home. Though it certainly wasn't norm for the residents to run away and go on killing sprees, personal issues added to academic competition could lead to alienation or at least social quirks.

Keeping this in mind, without focusing exclusively on the disturbing Beyond Birthday, there was an explanation. _Why _would remain a mystery, but the _how_ could be solved. "It is possible that his legacy is being carried out by another orphan in Winchester. He made those straw dolls often at the place we were raised in and hid them around the grounds."

Light raised a fine eyebrow at this identifying information which he might have given an arm and a leg for four months ago, but there was no sense of accomplishment for him now. After all, his motivations for that path had been completely stripped away from him. Still, that didn't seem to satiate his curiosity completely, and he inquired, "You were raised in an orphanage with Beyond Birthday? In Winchester?"

"Some of the time, yes." The information itself was, irrelevantly enough given Light's lack of Death Note, useless. There was no document nor certificate in that orphanage any longer with L's well-guarded real identity, so revealing it to his almost-murderer wasn't something L regarded as dangerous. But when Light gave a loud "hmm!" and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling with a half smile, L felt the need to add, "Is the irony that amusing?"

The smile faded but the thoughtfulness remained as the adolescent sat up and laid his hands loosely in his lap. "Sorry, it's just I never knew you were an orphan."

"Of course you didn't know. Light-kun has a dark heart indeed if the thought of orphans makes him smile."

"No..." Light shook his head distastefully, long strands of auburn swaying across his cheeks. Underneath the untrimmed hair, his expression drained of humor almost in an instant as it transformed into something serious and plain. "But to go from an unwanted child to Interpol's great mastermind in a few years... you are amazing, aren't you L?"

L blinked.

It wasn't a compliment as much as it was an observation. Light had hid his obvious desire to know L well throughout the investigation, and personal questions were always made with strict subtlety. Here, so it would seem, the facades lost their necessity and the result – the things they both wanted to see more than anything – were as cryptic as before they had been unwrapped. If L told Light his life story, Light would only have more reason to frown in confusion or glare in resentment. It wasn't much different for L every time Light admitted in words out loud that he was the Kira that L had spent what felt like a lifetime seeking.

"You yourself went from Japan's most promising student to Interpol's most wanted in a few days," L retorted quietly. "If I were to dedicate ample time to pondering how amazing you are, I would never get anything done."

This wasn't quite an insult, but this also wasn't quite mere observation. Light studied L with narrowed features, curling his fingers into fists in his lap and angling his chin so that his bright irises were watching him under half-lowered lashes.

Finally, "Why do you do that? You always turn everything around to me."

Stone-faced, L curled a hand under his chin. Was there a particular way he was supposed to answer such a thing? No, L had no obligation to explain himself, especially not to a young man with an explosive IQ. Especially not to Light.

And yet... why indeed? Was it worth Light's agitation to see him look at L with something more than cold indifference?

"...I cannot be blamed if Light-kun is magnetic."

At that, a glare embedded its way into Light's expression, but it wasn't quite a snarl. The calculating look transformed into genuine puzzlement, which was then replaced by a shrug, a sigh and a return to the original topic.

"_How fascinating is death, the extinction of life.__  
One moment here and the next gone.  
__The light put out and only the empty bag of the body left."  
-Henry van Dyke_

There was no point in denying it anymore: Quillsh Wammy was becoming an old man. He realized this as he drove on the quiet road through the English countryside with the windows windows rolled down in both the driver's and passenger's seat, and despite pressing business, his foot only gently pressed against the gas pedal to slow acceleration. Short pieces of an old song came out under his breath, coupled with a reverent silence. The moment was his, a chance to relax and reminisce. The memories of his younger life were progressively dulling and blurring together like the print of an old newspaper, but to be back in Winchester made forty years dissipate in the blink of an eye.

Winchester was cool in March and as crisp as a photograph. The ash trees that gathered in groups along the roadside spread leafless branches up into the white sky as though they thought to ensure that it stay in the air. Like a canopy, they stretched over the road and swayed gently in the slight breaths of wind. Everything was sprinkled with a soft layer of snow that glistened proudly even without a visible sun in the clouded sky.

Quillsh parked the car in front of the gates at the Winchester Wammy's House, staying seated for stolen moments extra and watching several children making snowballs in the yard. One little girl was trying her hand at building a snowman, but she had rolled the base too thick and she wouldn't be tall enough to attach the head if she continued her work proportionally. He slipped on his gloves to protect his ever-more sensitive skin from the chill and exited his vehicle to the symphony of yelling, laughing and shrieking that the youngsters played in.

"Hey, some old guy is here!"

"Who is it? One of Roger's friends?"

"You can call me that," Quillsh smiled, walking along the path to the mansion and avoiding flying snowballs in the process. It had been awhile since he had been here, and it wasn't really any wonder that the children didn't remember him. The ones who did would know him only as Quillsh Wammy, because the title of 'Watari' was a secret protected dearly and only the most promising candidates would learn his identity. "Why are you all outside, children? Surely it's not recess this early?"

A young boy, lisping from his lack of two front teeth, took it upon himself to explain. "Roger called a holiday because of the dead girl."

"One of the students died?"

The boy's face lit up with juvenile excitement. "He has no idea how it happened!"

He thanked the boy and continued into the heavy doors. Children were scattered around the entryway in scarves and mittens, playing games or gossiping to themselves in voices so overly discreet that even Quillsh with his weakening ears could hear their secrets vividly. Unfortunately, knowledge of so-and-so making out with so-and-so in the library didn't capture his interest – these were mostly new faces and new names and after all of his years of life it was nothing he hadn't heard before. The only little tidbit of interest was a whispered, _hey, did you hear Near is playing detective for Linda's death?_ followed by the less relevant, _I bet he _liked _her!_

The orphanage itself had already changed from the last time that Quillsh had walked through it. It was the small things that seemed to stick out the most, like a piece of new furniture or the newest dent in the wall. Physical damage, of course, never lasted long anyway considering the funds that Wammy's House had to hire staff for various household duties and maintenance, but even the housekeeper that scolded a young child for tracking muddy snow in across the hallways was a new face. No amount of money in any type of currency would ever stop the flow of time, and as secluded and brilliant as Wammy's House was, it would remain a victim like the rest of the world.

But there are some things that stay the same.

Roger Ruvie was in his office, where he retained a tendency to keep himself and avoid the children if he ever had a free moment. As usual, his head was buried in the withered fingers of a hand, holding his grimace as though headache was getting the best of him. The desk, though usually meticulously organized and free of dust, was filled with heaps of scattered papers as well as his own expensive computer equipment. As Quillsh pressed the door to creak it open, Roger's head tilted up with unmasked irritation until he recognized his the man who had come to see him.

"Q-Quillsh?" Roger said, immediately standing up and straining his eyes for further assurance. He hastily slipped in front of his desk, eyes still darting around each wrinkle in Quillsh's face, until finally he accepted the visitor as more than a passing figment of his imagination. "Oh thank God."

Quillsh took Roger's hand, wrapping the trembling fingers in his own and shaking it briefly for greeting. With a kind smile, he said, "It looks as though your age is catching up to you, my friend."

The orphanage headmaster didn't smile at the teasing and he didn't let go of the hand. Instead, he gripped it even more tightly when the handshake was, or should have been, complete. "It's not that. Oh, what am I saying, of course it is, but something has happened here and everything's going mad."

He paused to make sense of the words. "The girl Linda died..."

Panic, if it had been hidden before, jolted out of Roger's bulging eyes. His voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "I don't know how it happened, Quillsh!"

"So I've heard," he answered gently. "I've heard everything that's going on in the ten minutes I've been here. These children spread tales like wildfire; that at least hasn't changed."

"You don't know it all." Roger disagreed gravely. He swept a hand through his gray hair, looking more perplexed than before. "I would've contacted you immediately but I know you and L have been working in Berlin on that bombing case. I didn't want police involvement but I couldn't just keep the body, so I had it brought there for an autopsy and I told the children who... witnessed the scene to not speak of it with anyone outside of this institution."

Quillsh stepped toward a chair in front of Roger's desk and helped himself to a seat, and Roger in turn sat in the second of the pair. He lowered his voice. "Roger, these things are unfortunate but they do happen. This isn't the first time that we've lost an orphan and I don't understand why this bothers you so personally. The students will find something new to gossip about in a week..."

A wrinkled frown creased into the other man's forehead. "Linda was a young and healthy girl, by all medical records we have. The autopsy reports were inconclusive. They don't know how she died."

The old detective nodded, fingers curled under his chin. "I see. But surely there is some explanation that eludes them-"

"There is."

The interruption made Quillsh quirk his eyebrows, raising them under the shade of his brimmed black hat. Roger's face had been drained of all color, and abruptly, he stood up and strode to the other side of his desk. He fumbled with a set of keys from his pocket and, after two failed attempts, successfully unlocked a metal cabinet drawer to extract a package sealed in a manila envelope. Roger was holding the concealed thing by the corners of the envelope so precariously that Quillsh was reminded of Lawliet himself, and seeing his dear old friend in that position would have been humorous if only the atmosphere hadn't suddenly gone cold in a way that the winter couldn't be blamed for.

Roger tossed the package to Quillsh, who caught it easily and looked carefully. He wasn't signaled to open it, as Roger's head fell down into his hands again, but the message was clear enough. He untwisted the metal clasps that kept the tab of the envelope in place.

"I found this in Linda's room."

Logically, he shouldn't have had any reason to expect anything. Quillsh Wammy had lived a long time and made a fortune off of his ability to remain logical and think things through with rationality. Somewhere inside of him, however, was the same young man who became a brilliant inventor by insisting that there was some way that pieces could fit together into something grand. He had returned to Winchester to investigate why straw dolls had turned up in Germany and as he reached his hand into the unknown, he knew exactly what he was going to pull out.

The _wara ningyo_ was made of birch sticks, with pink yarn winding it together to create the shape of the body. It looked carefully crafted and the creator had clearly put tenderness into its creation. But even if it was the work of the artistically talented Linda, that wasn't enough to give the doll a face. It remained empty, like a lifeless warning. Or was it really...?

"He killed her," Roger announced with a wavering tone that made him sound either thirty years younger or thirty years older. "I don't know how, Quillsh, but he killed her."

Quillsh slipped the doll back into the envelope promptly and looked up with firmness. "That's ludicrous, Roger. Of course there's a reasonable explanation."

"Like another Kira did it?" he demanded. "How would Kira know? Is Kira the one whispering to the children in the church? Are they spreading ghost stories about _him_?"

"It's not Kira. It's a... if anything, it's a prank, of course. A cruel prank and perhaps another suicide."

Roger put his palms down on the desk and leaned forward. "Another suicide... like A's?" He gave a bitter laugh, the laugh of a man not himself. "It's a prank, all right. It's _his_ prank, that _thing_ that you brought here. Before her death, Near told me that Linda said that she was going to be the next L. Linda only wanted to be an artist, oh for Christ's sake, it was him!"

The unsteady fear that his oldest companion was showing made Quillsh feel suddenly very sick. He had not even mentioned what had been uncovered in Berlin – more _wara ningyo_, forty of them like graves for every victim whose bodies were scattered in pieces from the explosion. It couldn't be... like a bizarre fairy tale, it couldn't be true.

But Quillsh was an old man now, and he had already seen things that couldn't be. He had spent a lifetime inventing things that couldn't be – he took the little children and tested them systematically until he had invented L, and he had invented B. He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes with gloved fingertips, murmuring softly. "What makes you so certain, Roger?"

"Because I believe in God," came the answer. "And I believe in the devil, too."

"_Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."  
-Dylan Thomas_

A gurgled shriek rang throughout the vast wastelands of the Shinigami realm, so forceful that not even the twisting rocks and tunnels could muffle it from pouring into the sky. The noise was followed quickly by a choir of wind-like gasps and grunts, and then finally the throaty noises that did for chuckling.

"What do you mean you lost your Death Note?" Gukku demanded, leaning into Sidoh's panicked face and causing him to shrink backwards. "You mean you... lost it?"

"That's what I said!" Sidoh cried out in distress. He searched in vain the ground around him with his hands, grabbing at every loose stone as though the book that kept him living might be hiding underneath. The hope that he had lost it within the last few hours was quickly extinguished. "I had it the last time I checked..."

"And when was the last time you checked?" Jastin asked without sympathy. He had no pity for lazy gods like Sidoh, if they turned to dust then good riddance.

"I.. uh..."

"Are you trying to cheat me?" the human creature spoke up. For the first time in the short time that Jastin knew him, he looked irate, even angry. The red eyes glinted in the dusty light in an eerie way that captured the attention of everyone in the circle and, for a moment, actually managed to silence them. "I won the card game, didn't I? All I want to do is borrow your Death Note, Sidoh. Why are you trying to cheat me?"

Sidoh flung his hands into the air despairingly. "Why would I cheat?"

Deridovely snickered. "Ryuk is the only one who ever cheats."

There was a pause.

"Wait... Ryuk had _two_ Death Notes... didn't he?"

"He told me he tricked the King for a second!"

"Ryuk did _what_?"

"Ryuk has my Death Note?!"

"Now hold on, Ryuk said he lost his in the human world! That must mean he lost Sidoh's there when he went down to find something!"

"Yeah, but he found it, stupid. Kira picked it up, remember? And Ryuk was following Kira around until... he lost Kira, too."

"Where's Kira?"

"I told you, Kira's gone. It was L who did something, that's what I think."

"I forgot who L is!"

It had been too long since the Shinigami had something so exciting to talk about, and they chattered as hastily as lazy gods of death could. Their voices rumbled in gossip that was, to the human, almost a foreign language due to his lack of understanding. However, this human was not an ordinary human, he was clever and had no scruples nor fears about toying with forces beyond his comprehension.

In fact, the human couldn't hold back a grin, which turned into an eruption of uncontrollable giggling. The Shinigami abruptly stopped their conversation to each turn to their newest gaming partner, who was clutching his stomach like he might die of laughter if only he wasn't already dead – or indeed, whatever it was that he was.

When the human finally caught a hold of himself, he sneered at Sidoh. "Well, well. You owe me a favor but it looks like you and I might just end up helping each other. After all, if we're not careful both you and I will turn into dust, right?"

"I... don't like the way you say that," Sidoh moaned, one clawed hand covering one of his reptilian eyes and half his face hidden behind the tatters of his white cloak-like wings. "You're really scary, you know that?"

The creature didn't ignore the statement, he simply grinned pleasantly but his eyes were glinting with the deepest of crimsons that made Jastin shiver. "Wait here a little longer if you can last that long, Sidoh. And then you and I will find Ryuk. We'll find Kira. And we'll find..."

The sentence never finished because the human hopped to his feet and started back toward the junk piles, leaving all the gods scratching their heads at what he could possibly be after.

"_Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?  
Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,  
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,  
He passes from life to his rest in the grave."  
-Lord Byron_

The darkened room of twenty computers plus equipment had been quiet for the past half hour, save the speedy tapping of keys from two young men and an ever-present hum of machinery. The atmosphere, however, was anything but passive. Light had tried to consult L on what his plans were going to be, but L remained distracted, not exactly dismissing Light as an investigation partner but isolating himself in his own thoughts which made such a proposition as teamwork difficult. Despite suffering a year of L's unwanted attentions on him, being ignored now found a way to creep under Light's skin. But on the other hand, Light was perfectly fine with taking his own direction and not submitting to L's orders, and being able to work on his own in the silence soothed a part of him that had been constantly jilted since he came here.

Complexities and mysteries aside, there was something very mechanical about online research. Absorbing himself in the Internet, Light could focus on a single, if sketchy, problem. He could organize a list of tasks in his mind, divide them into sub-tasks and then prioritize. Hacking and cracking security programs was something that he was skilled at – when he was younger, he had made a game of sneaking into his father's police files and excitedly taking mental notes on how to become a great policeman, and when he was older, he took to breaking into programs for the challenge instead of the prize. There was no prize for him today, but the challenge tasted better anyway, like jogging until one's body burned after being caged for weeks. There was satisfaction in every new lead, and there was peace in the detachment it gave him.

He was looking for the New York mafia boss, Rod Ross, and any kind of clue that could lead them to plausible conclusions. What he found was better yet.

"Ryuuzaki, will you look at this?"

At the direct use of his name (one of many, anyway), L's stupor broke. He was sitting as usual with his weight on the palms of his feet and his knees upright, and when Light motioned him to his monitor, L adjusted. He shifted his feet and stretched his hunched back in Light's direction, moving his face in front of the screen. Light couldn't see his expression, only the mess of silky black hair that glimmered against the artificial light.

"In three days, according to this report, there will be an banquet at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. The banquet is dress suit, expensive and exclusive – an invitation only deal. Rod Ross's name is right on the list here, along with a handful of German names. This report also says that police will not be in the area during this time."

"What report is this?" L asked.

"That's the strange thing," Light admitted without fully concealing his own astonishment. "It's a file straight from the NYC police force."

L kept his face in Light's monitor for a few more seconds, probably until he had memorized the data, then turned his head with a small nod up to Light. "Then we know it's reliable. I feel that this is the drug trade that connects with Goddard, and Goddard will be expecting it to go completely smoothly."

"But the police know about it..."

"They've been bought off," L dismissed. "Ross has the resources to do it. The information is there specifically so the force will know where _not_ to be." At Light's glare down at the monitor that judged the concept like only Kira can judge, L smiled. "Light-kun, if all policemen were as honest as your father, then Soichiro Yagami would cease to be exceptional."

The remark was strange, and though it wasn't uncommon for strange things to find their way out of L's mouth, it felt out of place. It was, admittedly, an innocent statement and meant kindly, but thinking about his family made him uncomfortable these days so he made a point not to. This was especially true after his recent resolution to put the past behind him. But such a goal was difficult when he was faced with the imperfectness of the world and the corruption of law-enforcement – the supposed protectors of justice and public safety. It wasn't as if the notion was foreign to him, but when he thought of his father, of Aizawa and Mogi, Matsuda and Ide putting their lives on the line to do what they believed was right, he resented the criminal underworld even more. And the police officers who cooperated with that underworld were criminals themselves, accomplices, and they deserved punishment in the name of the ones who were honest and pure.

L gave him a curious look and Light cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, this would be a good opportunity to get inside information on Ross, or even take him in if we can catch him with the drugs. You can encourage him to cooperate."

"Ah. Yes." L settled back with his weight evenly on his feet, one hand resting on a knee and the other with its thumbnail clicking between L's teeth. "In three days... I should send Watari. I'll need Watari back in the United States. Or..." At this point, it seemed that L forgot to voice his thoughts and fell back into his own head.

When L was completely silent again, lost in some trance, Light found himself tapping his fingernails against the wooden floor with annoyance. _All that work to find the information and not even an indication that you're going to do anything? _Thinking about it too deeply only made him weary, and he stood up. "Fine. I want to go shower now."

"What?" That woke L up. His head whipped around, black hair ruffling with the movement, and stared with wide eyes. "How long will you be?"

Light scoffed. "Don't act so insulted. If I hadn't said anything, you wouldn't have even noticed that I left."

"Of course I notice. I want you here."

"I have a schedule that doesn't revolve around you, you know," he said airily. When L blinked, the humor lost on him, he added, "I thought I'd take a nap after the shower."

"_Why?_" As if it weren't the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because there's nothing to do. I don't know what else you want me to do."

"I want you to stay with me," and then, "I might need your help."

Exasperated, Light raised his hands, an indifferent gesture coupled with an intent glare in his eyes. "Are you ordering me to stay or not?"

"No... I'm sorry." L curled down into his knees, still watching Light but apologetically. After a brief moment he turned back to his computer, mumbling. "You've done more than enough. Go do what you want."

With a final hard look at the detective, Light excused himself. He couldn't be expected to yield to Ryuuzaki's every whim nor pity him just because he was moping around. A sulking L was an obnoxious L, and confined to the same building as him or not, Light hardly wanted to be near him lest he was allowed to punch him. He had every right in the world to begrudge L where he could – after all, what did _he_ have to complain about? He had everything in the world except for social graces and a vegetable pantry, so Light would have to be pardoned from voluntarily watch L fume in a corner because his childhood buddy refused to stay dead.

The thought soared through Light's mind as he pulled off his dark sweatshirt, and it made him stop with the clothing still dangling from his arms. As if automatically, his eyes trailed to the window where it was, for once, not snowing, but frost still misted the glass. What if the ghost of B had actually risen from his grave and was trying to lure Ryuuzaki like a rat out to a place where he could have his revenge? If Light were to believe in ghosts then he would have to start believing in all of the Japanese folktales he had learned as a child, from shrines and from picture books. But then, why not? It was as Ryuuzaki had said. There were gods of death, like a _kami_ spirit from the old stories. Ryuk had been something that Light had accepted, just like he had accepted that his Death Note was from a spirit world. If B was actually haunting Earth as a ghost, Light was certain that he would be able to accept that as well. Yet, Ryuk had told him...

The cold began to prickle against Light's naked torso, so he hastily finished stripping his clothing and turned the knob of the shower to hot water. Putting a finger under the nozzle, he measured the temperature until it had reached something desirable and stepped in. A steaming stream of water fell upon his back and his hair, instantly remedying the chill. He splashed it around around his body until his skin was tinged with pink.

The fact remained that Ryuuzaki seemed to think that B might haunt him if he were a ghost, which said quite clearly that B had every reason in the world to resent him. That was... interesting, but expected. Light knew from experience that L's targets had justifiable reason to loathe him. But out of all the deceased that he had caught, why was B the one to remain a legacy? Because he shared a youth with Ryuuzaki? Because he was one of the few who knew the secrets that Ryuuzaki kept so closely guarded, the knowledge of the beginnings of the world's most brilliant detective?

And if Ryuuzaki thought so, did Light have any reason to be skeptical?

If Beyond Birthday was somehow real, in this hypothetical situation, and he was targeting Ryuuzaki – the more pertinent question was if Light did have something to worry about. He had and still took the scenario with interest but also indifference. After so long kept in this tower with L and Watari where not even the ground could reach him, Light had come to feel totally untouchable. Not safe, not exactly _safe. _Despite the assurances of a life sentence instead of a death penalty, his ward remained Kira's fiercest enemy. As long as could remain cooperative with L and put up with his prevarications, he could be assured that L had no reason to alter their agreement. Light had ceased to be a god, and he could admit it without heartache anymore that his existence had been quickly transformed from monumental to nihility, absolute unimportance.

But to exist for so long in a place high above reality and void of contact, with only two men for company, why wouldn't he feel as though everything below him couldn't touch him and couldn't hurt him? The world had been taken from him. There was no connection left, so why should he fear it?

Light brushed his hands through his hair to rid it of any remaining soap. The water weighed it down into longer length yet, and it fell obnoxiously over his eyes. With a mental complaint about how annoying it was when his hair was allowed to go unchecked for so long, he swept it to the side and turned the faucet off. Dripping wet, he dried himself with the towel before stepping out onto the bath mat and dressed in fresh clothes.

Laying safely on the counter away from the water, despite being water-proof, was the watch that L had given him. Light frowned and reached for it, pausing to study the glint of the bathroom lighting against the gold surface. It fit comfortably against his wrist, and was infinitely more pleasing than the damned handcuffs that L had become, apparently, too lazy to require him to wear. Light was fine with L leaving him to his own devices, and the compromise had given them both time for some personal space. It met less arguments and fights, but ironically, Light found himself seeking out L more than the other way around. L was, crudely put, his only real form of entertainment. If he was forced to solitary confinement again he was certain that insanity would get the best of him.

When he allowed a thought at what might have become of him being convicted as Kira if L hadn't intervened... the notion made him gag, but he supposed he had something to be thankful to Ryuuzaki for.

_And at least... to be fair..._

.._.it's this person and not anyone else._

"You decided against napping?" L asked intently, but without taking his eyes off of the computer screen.

"That's right."

Instead of looking back at him, L glanced at the monitors which constantly played the feed from his video cameras stationed around the house. Light rolled his eyes as L gave him his attention through a computer when he was standing just ten feet behind. "Why do you have a chess board?"

Light knelt and set down the wooden game board, careful not to spill the wooden case which held the black and white playing pieces. He opened the latch, where each carved unit rested safely in foam. "To play chess, obviously."

"I don't want to play," L mumbled. "I have too much to think about."

"I didn't ask you to play," Light pointed out, sitting back comfortably on his legs and beginning to set up the game. He took care of the pawns first, lining them up neatly in the center of their squares to face their opponents. "I wanted to play against myself."

Like a jilted cat, L snapped his eyes back to Monitor 12 and crouched down in a position that made him look ready to lunge at something or someone. Immediately, he began to tap against the keys of the keyboard. "Enjoy yourself."

"I will. I'm feeling lucky today so maybe I'll win," Light said jovially, beginning to arrange the fighting units. The rooks went into place, then the knights, the bishops and finally the stars of the battle, the king and the queen. Instead of being something lavish, the chess set looked hand carved, and each piece had been made with the utmost detail and care, and the set looked daunting when fully configured. Light put two fingers around the head of a pawn and slid it forward. "Let's see... White, D2 to D4."

The pawn slid up two spaces in front of the white king, leaving the space in front of the most significant piece vulnerable. Now came Black's turn, and with a bit of disdain, Light announced, "Black, A7 to A6."

"If you're going to broadcast every move you make, then play somewhere else," L grumbled, typing as loudly as he could attack his keyboard without breaking the keys.

"Oh, don't worry. It won't last long." Now it was White's turn again. Light set his sights on the back row of the army, and took hold of the king's bishop. With the pawn out of the way, the bishop was free to slide diagonally out onto the battlefield. "White, C1 to, ah... F4."

Black again. "Alright, Black H7 to H6."

With the black army doing nothing of importance, Light was free to unleash his Queen. "White E1 to C3."

"That's cruel, Light-kun." If L had been trying to ignore Light, now it was impossible. The white army was utilizing a four-move checkmate, which was one of the most simple ways to win if one's opponent made no moves to interfere with the process. With Light's queen lined in C, she could use her unlimited vertical range on the next turn to take the king's bishop's pawn. This would put the queen diagonal to the king, which would be a check. The king could normally move one step diagonal and take the queen, but the white bishop at F4 guarded the queen and cinched the check-mate.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ryuuzaki. All right, now... Black G-"

"B8 to C6."

Light turned up to L, who was still across the room with only his hunched back visible. "What's that?"

"Black B8 to C6," the detective growled. "'Move the knight in front of the bishop's pawn."

"Ryuuzaki, please don't give me any advice," Light dismissed. "It's my game and that makes me feel as though I'm cheating."

"It's my chess board."

"You said you didn't want to play."

"B8 to C6."

And so, for no reason in the world and without much to gain but company, Light tore L away from the computer and indulged him in a chess match. Ryuuzaki managed to save his game with a knight, and then with a pawn. For the first time playing the game, Light realized how ironic it was that the King, the leader, the army's lifeline, was almost completely useless on his own. He needed his pawns to be anything at all.

"_I hear a voice you cannot hear,  
Which says I must not stay;  
I see a hand you cannot see,  
Which beckons me away."  
-Thomas Tickell_

There had been a time when the countryside church near Wammy's House had offered services, and Quillsh recalled attending at a time. The attendance had been slowly but steadily decreasing when he first funded the building of his Winchester orphanage, and without revealing the true intent of the institution Quillsh had asked for charities – not because he needed the money, but purely to keep appearances. When finally the old priest couldn't fight his cancer anymore without hospitalization, the church was abandoned. At least, as a religious function. The orphans themselves continued to enjoy the hideaway, and he recalled L once complaining to him that B – who went by the given alias of Ryuuzaki then – that he was always following him there.

As Quillsh and Roger made their way up the crumbling concrete steps and into the place, Quillsh immediately noticed how run down it had become since the time when he had attended. If there was one thing that never changed between normal children and children with phenomenal intelligence potential, it was that they rarely volunteered to clean and as such the church had become a dusty, broken place. Other things, however, did change, were constantly changing, and in his age Quillsh couldn't forget that nothing lasts forever.

A stained glass window, once a lovely work of art illustrating the Virgin Mary holding her son was now shattered against the faded carpet. Quillsh clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he stepped around the sharp pieces, about to tell Roger that this place was dangerous for the younger children to play now and it had to be either cleaned up or demolished. His reprimands were halted when Roger stopped and pointed at the a spot right near a rotting wood pew.

"This is where the body was," Roger stated, turned away. "This is also only my second time going in here since that day... The first was to fetch Linda when Mello came to me with the news."

"Roger..."

"Don't reprimand me!" he commanded hoarsely. Quillsh could see him visibly shuddering in his brown coat as though there was a heavy draft, but though it was winter the church walls still blocked all of the wind. "Oh Jesus, don't reprimand me, Quillsh. I'm not as brave as I used to be. I'm not as strong."

There was no point in either offering scorn nor sympathy, so Quillsh merely nodded and stepped forward. He crouched down on his old knees and placed a hand on the carpet. It was a worn red color already but he couldn't find any spots of blood. There was no visible sign of struggle either, but of course the church was already a mess from children playing so this couldn't be determined for certain. He would have to talk to the witnesses, Near and Mello, and ask them what they saw.

He raised his gaze, and it caught at the altar in front of him. Curiously he strode forward and placed a hand on the dust-covered table which was once the proud platform for the Anglican priest . He ran a finger along the surface, picking up a trail of gray with his glove. Before the altar there was the crucifix, only a wooden cross now that all of the gold and majesty had been donated when the church closed.

After a moment of silence, he stepped around nearer to the cross. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned to the altar, and that was when something caught his eye. There was something scribbled into the wood and as he came closer it became more clear. He adjusted his glasses and tilted his head upward to read the thin writing, thin, but blotchy and crimson. It was blood, smeared, and the letters formed were simply, "LABB".

L After Beyond Birthday.

A strange haze went through Quillsh's head, the haze of realization and dread. LABB had been Beyond's title for the game he set up with L, that time that felt like a forever ago now. The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. Who could have known about this but L himself? The blood was dry, but it was no more than a few days old. Suddenly, an insane thought crossed his mind - had Linda been reported with a pricked finger in her autopsy? If so, could it be? Could the impossible be? And then-

"_Do you believe in gods, Mr. Wammy?_"

It was like a harsh whisper, a stream of wind blowing into his ears. Quillsh pulled his hand back, startled, and turned around with a fright. He had been sure that he heard the voice, but when he looked the only soul in the church was Roger, who was quietly mumbling to himself.

-_To Be Continued..._

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. So who here remembers me ranting about how I want to remake the Death Note movies? Well, I've been beaten. They are apparently going to be remade in America. I'd apply for a position as director or something but I think that's already decided. D:

2. It might feel like there's a lot of different things going on here, but I hope they'll all start weaving together soon. It's hard for me to judge how confusing something is, since I know what's going on already, but again a lot of things should be coming together soon!

Thanks for reading!


	11. Taste of Heresy

**BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 11**

Disclaimer: Death Note does not belong to me.

**TASTE OF HERESY**

* * *

"_So Near beats you at everything. Isn't that right, Mello?"_

The voice hissed gently into Mello's ear, flickering like a snake's tongue and dripping venom inside his brain with each sharp nip. The intrusive thought took him by surprise, as he thought he had been more or less fully focused on the game at hand, but then again, those cursed words were always inescapably infiltrating his mind. Mello huffed, kicking at the frosted grass once with the toe of his boot, and then ran toward the football that Pierre and Anna were battling over yet managing to kick each other's ankles more than the black-and-white target.

"Pierre! C'mon!" he bellowed to his teammate, who, despite being a certified genius in mathematics and chemistry classes, was a skinny, zit-ridden twerp of an athlete. Who was about to get the shit beaten out of him (again) if he didn't shape up. The boy tried to lunge forward but the springy Anna was quicker, and sent it soaring with a punt across the field. Mello scowled as the ball went at least five feet higher than anyone on his side could jump to stop it. To hell with it_. _He was never going to pick Pierre for his team again, and they would be exchanging a few words after the game.

Sprinting the direction of the football, Mello yelled out orders to his teammates, who hastily made efforts to comply to the best of their apparently insufficient abilities. It went from Toby to Dill, back to Toby and then, finally, an interception from Sammy. Sammy ran with all of her might back in Mello's direction. She was fast, but her kick was weak and she knew it, so she was attempting to get close before she passed it to Mello. Not wanting to waste time, Mello ran toward her, dodging the bulky Oscar, who tried to block him – unsuccessfully, of course.

"_But you know that you're better than everyone out _here_."_

There was that weird voice again. Mello's upper lip curled, and his eyes traveled on their own accord toward the the iced glass window of Wammy's House. Curled by the fireplace inside was his ashen-haired rival himself, Near, with an intricate mess of puzzle pieces surrounding him. Linda, before her mysterious death, had always encouraged Near to play football with them, but the smug little prick always refused. Near's friends were remote control cars and dominoes, never humans. That was, if the word 'friend' was even in Near's personal dictionary, which on second thought, was highly improbable.

Near didn't try. He didn't even need to try. Mello had never seen him study more than occasionally glancing over some advanced text, and Near never took notes. When Mello stayed up all night to make alterations to his chemistry assignment until he simply wasn't capable of improving it further, Near handed in something he had spent twenty minutes putting together and always received the best marks. When Mello was certain he had finally and correctly calculated some advanced polynomial or bilinear algebraic expression with three full pages of work, Near figured it out faster, and without so much as jotting down a single number for reference. Mello did all he knew how to do, dedicating himself to improvement every moment without fail, and Near played with Legos.

Near was the obstacle to his ultimate goal, and so Near had become his ultimate goal. Wammy's House was an institution of competition, of children shoving each other and pushing themselves so that they may be the best. So that they may one day become L, the shadowy hero of justice and symbol of titanic intellectual prowess. They dreamed of L summoning them for apprenticeship, of L sending personal approval to a possible candidate of succession, of meeting him in person and actually inheriting his position. L and Watari would only recognize the best. And Near was indisputably the best, as fast as Mello would run to trail behind.

It was a cruel sort of irony and no matter how much Mello _knew _he was better than the rest of his classmates, he also knew that he would never, ever be good enough. Near was all that mattered and Near was unsurpassable. It was enough to make Mello resent Near from the beginning. Near's own arrogance, paraded through cold logic and fact with the occasional bratty smirk, was what had turned that resentment into hatred. A mockery to everything that Mello put his heart and soul and every cell in his brain into, and an incessant reminder that pretend as he might, he would never succeed. Not where it mattered. Not to Near.

"_Mello, Near has weaknesses, too. I think if you crawled into his room with a knife tonight, he would be helpless as you slit his throat... he might not even know how to scream.."_

SMACK.

Sammy had sent the football flying through the air at Mello, who incidentally, was not paying attention, and it collided with his face. Hot pain jolted into his head from bone in his nose. Mello swore and clutched it, glaring hell-hot flames at the roaring laughter that erupted among the orphan players.

"What the hell, Mello!" Pierre choked up, eyes tearing from the apparent hilarity of the situation. "''Least you caught it, eh?"

"Ladies and gentleman, let's see an instant replay of _that_ winning move!" Anna giggled.

"Shut up!" Mello snapped, fuming with an indignity that burned more painfully than the physical agony. His nose was bleeding and stung like fuck, but it didn't feel broken. Still, the last thing he wanted was to go around school looking like someone had decked him, or worse – looking like he got hit in the face with a football – so he snarled at everyone to continue the game without him as he went inside to find a bathroom and some tissues.

Inside the mansion he didn't even bother to stomp his boots on the mat as the housekeeper had repeatedly insisted that the residents do in the wintertime. Trailing footprints of snow and dirt alleviated some of his frustration.

But just as Mello's luck would have it, Near himself had set up his toys right in the hallway by the bathroom.

"Why can't you play with your stupid toys in your room?! You're always in the damn way!" Mello snarled, purposely stomping through a tower as he made his way to the door.

Near only let out a small, almost silent chuckle in response, but his voice was as stony as ever. "Judging by your face, I'd imagine you were in the way, too. For a soccer ball, at least..."

"Pity you never come out and play with us," the blond shot venomously. "Though you'd probably be a better football than player."

"Athletics aren't my strength," Near admitted freely, picking up the blocks that had fallen all over the ground as carelessly as if he had been expecting this kind of reaction all along. "They never will be, either. Why should I bother working at something I know I will always be second rate at?"

Mello flushed, and despite Near's words, the boy might as well have clobbered him in the stomach. Finally, Mello shrugged. "Yes. Why indeed?" And he slammed the bathroom door behind him.

He pressed his palms down on the white tiled counter and hung his head, taking a deep breath. After a moment he inclined it and stared into the mirror. Blood was still dribbling out of his nostrils and staining his lips red – the very sight of it frustrated him, and he wiped the mess with the back of his hand. Touching the area stung, and swearing under his breath, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them to more gently clean the area. The blood kept coming, and he opted to wait it out here so it wouldn't leak on him the moment he stepped out.

With a sideways glance, he looked at himself in the mirror again. Fifteen years old and he was certain that he'd get a little more out of his growth spurt. A black long-sleeved cotton shirt covered what he would proudly show off in the summer as muscles, and the only memorabilia he had of his mother, a cross necklace, dangled against his chest. Still, despite it all, Mello knew he looked like a fool with tissue shoved up his nose and red marks all over his face. Someone who had his sights too high, only to get caught up in the game and have his sights literally smashed out of him.

"_No one L would take a second glance at,"_ that voice in his head chided. "_You know you won't succeed L here. You know you're no match for Near."_

_Yes,_ Mello thought back for no reason in particular, ignoring the fact that it made him even more of a fool to be having a conversation with himself – despite how alien and detached this weird voice was. _He can evaluate a problem coolly. I'm slower, and I can't-_

"_I said that you won't succeed L _here_. Even Near knows that in some areas, you are far superior. As you said, he can evaluate himself coolly, and he knows where his own faults lie."_

Mello huffed_. So he can't play football. Big damn deal. He'll become the next L and he won't have to get off his bloody arse at all._

"_You're getting agitated by details again. That's where you're failing, but if you listen to me, I can _make _L notice you."_

The words had an ominous ring in Mello's head, and he narrowed his eyes into the mirror – wondering what part of his brain was processing on its own accord. It was impossible – the ball certainly hadn't hit him that hard. But his heart was thumping against his ribcage and his mind already engaging. .._But... who are you?_

Laughter, some kind of silent, unhinged laughter responded. It froze Mello to the bones, made him shiver and clench his hands into fists. "_Do you believe in gods, Mihael Keehl?"_

"...heh." A nervous chuckle escaped him, and the winter's cold seemed to infect him from the very soul. Something was wrong with him, very wrong with him, something was second-best and failing and clobbered in the stomach – was he going crazy here? He knew he was stressed, with constantly pushing himself and especially with Watari at Wammy's House right now. But Mello wasn't insane.. was he? "Fuck it."

He threw the paper towels and tissues into the trash, wiping his nose a final time before bolting out of the bathroom with a shake of his head. This was the last thing he needed – he had to keep it cool, like Near did. If he let his emotions overcome him, if he let himself become too anxious and restless and pessimistic, he would never have what it took to be a worthy L even if he was offered the job freely. Mello took a breath, reminding himself that the most important thing was to follow Near's example of being cool and honest with himself, and not letting passion and frustration impede his better judgment.

"Ah, Mello." Watari himself was standing next to Near, and despite the white-clad boy appearing focused on rebuilding his block tower, it looked as though the pair had been discussing something prior to Mello opening the door back into the hallway. "I was hoping to see you again as well before I leave."

"More about Linda?" Mello asked. They had been interrogated in great length earlier about the circumstances of Linda's death, and Mello had taken mental notes on Watari's precise questioning techniques. He wanted the opportunity to anticipate questions and preemptively offer necessary answers so that Watari would be impressed, and in turn, L would be impressed. That was something he might have over Near – Near rarely spoke unless directly spoken to.

"Just a question," the old man answered with a tired smile. He adjusted his bifocals to get a better look at the blond boy in front of him. "You didn't come to us until later in your life, as I remember, so perhaps you won't recall. But I want to know if you have any recollections of the student we called BB."

BB. _The Backup.._

"I.." Mello did remember. How could he not? An image of an older teen with dark hair and an estranged grin materialized in his brain, albeit blurry. But he _knew, _even talked to him a few times, no, in great length on several occasions, knew of him, knew him – then..

Then it was gone. Like an essay disappeared into a blank piece of paper with only loose pieces of stained eraser to prove that there was ever anything at all. "I don't remember," he found himself saying before he could stop it.

Watari raised his bushy eyebrows, then tipped his hat. "That's all right. Keep up with your studies, Mello. And Near, thank you again for all of your help. L will appreciate it."

"Yes," Near said simply. As though he were entitled to L's approval.

He probably was.

Mello felt something in him snap, but all he could do was stare at Watari. Confusion – like seeing Linda die before his eyes, like his mind breaking and ghosts whispering, like having more ambition than his brain could accommodate – confusion, at failing, at being out of control again and again and taking it all but having what he needed the most dangling just out of his reach. And knowing, _knowing_ from the depths of his heart that he was not worthy of it anyway. "I'm sorry," he finally called quietly after Watari. "I don't know why I can't. I.. thought..."

Watari turned back to him, having the courtesy to look surprised. He gave another smile. "Don't be so hard on yourself, child, that it handicaps rather than boosts your will to succeed. Don't think that L doesn't know how hard-working you are."

"_Hard work means nothing if it doesn't yield the most desirable results. Watari merely wants you to keep playing his game until you've failed properly... don't you know that, Mihael?"_

"When will L pick?" Mello demanded suddenly. "When is this over? Isn't that why you're really here?"

He looked surprised, and coughed politely into his hand to show that Mello was bordering inappropriate. "I am here on confidential investigation for L, but of course I'm always updated on the accomplishments of the students. Headmaster Ruvie sends me detailed reports, so my advice to you, Mello, is simply to continue to give your best effort for Wammy's House."

"_Continue to become a tool.. don't you know, Mihael, that this man is a snake? Quillsh Wammy invented this place, invented it all, is trying to invent _you _into something useful. Don't go after the proxy, go after L himself."_

"I'm not going to be used." He was gnashing his teeth, uncontrollable – and it _was_ uncontrollable – hatred, not even anger or frustration but a cold hatred speaking for him and reducing his self-control to a lifeless puppet. "I'm in this for L, not for Wammy's House."

"Calm yourself, Mello," Watari said, polite pretenses giving way to strict reprimand. "In the end it is L's own decision as to who will be his successor, and he will judge your merit by the standards of this institution. Strive to be the best you can be, as that is what the position you're seeking demands."

With that, Watari exited down the hallway. Mello watched him leave, wondering what came over him – he didn't mind letting his temper get the best of him around Roger, but Watari was a completely different story. Watari was the only key to L himself. Yet he felt something new – not the desire to impress, but rather the desire to take matters finally into his own two hands, and the desire to take revenge. And, more than anything, to _make_ L notice him.

"Are you running away?" Near inquired. He was still curled on the floor beside him, handling his toys with charted precision and giving off the impression that he was only offering him half of his attention. Yet merely half of Near's attention was more than enough to be wary of.

Mello startled, and then realized with a pit in his stomach that Near had came to the correct conclusion before he himself did. "Why the hell does it matter to you? I was never any competition, anyway."

"No," said the boy, ambiguous as to which claim he was answering. Perhaps both. Then, "That's a problem. I would like you to stay."

Despite being well used to everything that came out of Near's mouth being either cryptic or stinging, he couldn't reign back the surprise from rendering his face dumbfounded. "...Huh?"

"It's because I like Mello."

Mello's eyes widened and his body tensed. Then his lips curled into a snarl, and all of his hatred seethed hotly through his veins. How dare the son of a bitch toy with him like this! "Don't you dare think for one fucking second I'm giving in to you, Near. _I _will be the one who becomes L's successor. I'm tired of these stupid games. This place, and you, _especially_ you, can rot in hell!"

Before he knew what he was doing, he had stormed to his dormitory and was stuffing a bag with clothes and money he had swiped from Roger. It was an irrational thing to do, he told himself. He wasn't thinking straight, he wasn't evaluating the consequences. It was stupid and he had nowhere to go, and no plan either. Yet he had made it all the way to the gates of the Wammy's estate before he willed his body to stop moving, which had all of his unnameable angers and frustrations coursing like a rapid current through his veins.

"_Just listen to me, Mihael,"_ the voice in his head purred. "_I'll take care of you."_

_I shouldn't. I should think about this. I shouldn't act on impulse._

"_I am not your impulse," _it murmured gently. "_I am your salvation."_

It was dangerous, and yet, he must have already decided, for his feet began to move as though on their own accord. He would say his good-byes to no one.

* * *

Though several rooms housed a fully stocked mini-refrigerator, and there were tables, microwaves and a few other select appliances in the designated dining area, there was no place that could have been called a kitchen on the floor where Light resided. Neither L nor Watari could bother with a time-consuming hobby like cooking, and a mere hobby it remained when one had a vast fortune and resources available to him. Instead, Light observed, either L or Watari would disappear through the elevator doors that were as secured as a brick wall to him, and return a few minutes later wheeling a cart with a white tablecloth and extravagantly prepared plates of food. It was room service no different from the hotels they used to stay at during the Kira investigation. Now that they spent most of their time together, L would dangle his cell phone at his ear and take a brief pause from listing the multitude of desserts and fruits to the cooks downstairs to ask Light what he wanted to eat. Light had never been presented with a menu, and merely requested seafood and rice, if available, under the assumption that options would be bare as far as Japanese cuisine went. Then, feeling particularly derisive one evening, Light told L that he wanted _tako-sashimi_ and _soba_. L transferred the order to his cell phone and within half an hour, Light had a tray of sliced raw octopus and noodles.

It almost pissed him off. He _got_ it, L was wealthy. Where all of his money came from was a mystery – Light had two theories, the first that various world organizations such as Interpol and United Nations sponsored L with as much financial support as he claimed to need, and the second that L was involved in money laundering – but in the end, he supposed, at least he wasn't forced to eat American food or cake all the time. When the thought occurred to him he began to speculate that L had deliberately hired cooks specializing in Japanese food to accommodate him, which was either a completely arrogant or a surprisingly kind whilst unnecessary thing to do.

Light didn't know what to make of a lot of things anymore. With considerably less to do with his life, he found himself overthinking the frivolous things, and he wasn't entirely sure anymore that he was being one hundred percent logical.

Today, they sat on couches facing each other on either end of a wooden coffee table in the lounge room. It was the only room on this floor that didn't currently have a computer, aside from Light's room and the bathrooms. Instead it occupied its space with a grand piano, furniture, various potted plants that looked as though in a few years would reach too high for the ceiling to cover, and the thick glass doors to the balcony outside, where the fierce wind was brushing snow to and from the railing. Light, who was accustomed to Japan's generally humid weather, snapped a rejection when L suggested they open the doors for fresh air while they eat.

"But I hate the smell of tempura," L complained as he gnawed on a peppermint stick that had been decorating the top of his pink and white swirled cake. "The whole floor will stink unless we get an air current flowing."

Light held up a large piece of fried shrimp between his chopsticks, pointedly ignoring L's glower, and bit into the crunchy surface. "Would you prefer that I catch pneumonia?"

"Yes," L answered after a short pause of, apparently, serious consideration. "I think you might be more docile that way."

"..._Docile_?"

"Well, you must admit you're not always the most agreeable," the detective said as he dipped a forkful of cake into a small bowl of sugar. The cake was so moist that the sugar stuck to it like glue and gave the appearance of a sheet of snow glistening around the spongy substance. Possibly mistaking Light's blanched expression for total indignity at the accusation, he raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you never noticed that you're disagreeable because other people have a tendency to agree with you."

Tearing his eyes away from the sparkling monstrosity on the prongs of L's fork, Light dipped his next piece of shrimp tempura into _tentsuyu_ sauce. "Then, doesn't that make me agreeable?"

"They only agree with you because you're usually right," L said decidedly, inserting the abnormally sweetened cake into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean you're very cooperative when other people, most relevantly me, want you to agree with _them_."

Light rolled his eyes, about to say something about how the pot seemed to be calling the kettle black here, and besides, it wasn't fair to call him disagreeable simply because Kira had once tried to kill L for opposing him – that was an isolated incident, and Light personally thought he was usually quite cooperative around other people. It wasn't as though he had a history of being argumentative around anyone except for his mother and Ryuuzaki, and to be clear, Ryuuzaki deserved all of the disagreement Light gave him. Instead, he simply smirked. "You must've hated working in Japan. The task force and I ate tempura all the time."

"Thank you for the sympathy, Light-kun."

"I wasn't sympathizing."

"There was only a 2 percent chance that you were. Oh well."

A half-smile formed on Light's face and he found himself relaxing. When their moods found some common ground, he and L could naturally slip back into their old ways of acting around each other, as they had during the Kira investigation. The expressions they wore and the words that came out of their mouths were probably more similar to their earliest days together, with careful delicacy and mischief deliberately aimed at one another, but also with the instinctual comfort that had developed during the weeks they were handcuffed together and Light had no memories of being Kira. The thought processes and the habits had evolved over long months spent side by side, and the peculiar feelings weren't easy to banish even now that Light had all of his memories and L had imprisoned him.

Realizing this, Light stiffened. Other things had developed besides close companionship, and for himself, wariness was a feeling that might never go away. He would never be able to forget the fear of being caught and the terror of certain death. To be fair, L shouldn't be blamed personally for doing a detective's impersonal job, but L also could not be forgiven and would, without fail, be resented forever. Light could vividly recall the plane ride here, and the inescapable feelings of drowning in the baptismal water that christened him into his lonesome new life. Then, there had been fifty days of silence where Light had no indication as to what L was really planning for his fate – after all, what _he_ would have done if he had defeated L was obvious to both of them.

_Yet, it could've been.. should've been worse. _Light could be confident now that L had no will nor reason to execute him, and was even sincere about his desire to let Light live and work under him. But shaking off the weight of caution was impossible.

Light could honestly say that no one else had ever invoked such strange feelings in him. Circumstances were unique – after all, no one else had ever been the perpetrator of his downfall.

Still, it always seemed so normal to sit at Ryuuzaki's side, and when he resisted he felt strangely like he was pulling against the chain that once bound them together. No matter how angry he became, no matter how defiant and even hateful toward L he was, to keep a distance required conscious thought. Light told himself at first that it was as important as ever to keep an eye on his enemy, and he even told himself that he would go crazy of boredom if he didn't gravitate toward his captor. But perhaps that chain was still there, imprinted into their instincts. Even if Light escaped, and if L was dead, he wondered if he would he be free of it.

Well... idle thoughts.

L seemed to have abandoned his earlier complaints and silently amused himself by cutting his cake into perfect squares the size of sugar cubes. It was rare for Light to be able to glance at L without meeting the detective and his longtime pursuer's eyes staring right back at him, but now it seemed like he had other thoughts on his mind. After all, L didn't play with his food unless he was thinking about something complicated enough that there were options to weigh.

"There is something I want to discuss with you," L announced suddenly.

Light, still half-immersed in his own thoughts, glanced his way. "Yes?"

"Normally, if it were Watari and me, one of us would go investigate at the Plaza Hotel's banquet tomorrow, and the other would stay here to man the computers. But Watari may or may not arrive here back in time from his own investigation.."

Light gave a small nod, knowing that L's mind went straight toward Beyond Birthday – and possibly, he supposed, rightfully so. That was the reason that L had sent Watari to England in the first place, after the surprise of the _wara ningyo_ in Berlin, and if something else had been detaining him surely Watari would've contacted him immediately. "I don't see why that's not something you and I could do."

"Then you would be up to it?" the detective asked, peering at him curiously.

"I was under the impression that this kind of thing was the job I agreed to," he put simply. "Of course, you never did present me with an official contract."

L scratched the tip of his nose. "I was only being polite. I'd like you to do it. By now, you should have enough experience to be able to use my system proficiently. If you have any doubts about yourself, voice them now, otherwise you'll be responsible for any.. mishaps."

Light was half surprised that the man hadn't just flat out said _Watari will kill you if you cause me trouble. _He crossed his legs at the thighs and tilted his head. "Of course I can do it."

"Good. Now, I need to.."

In a swift movement, L stood up and excused himself wordlessly, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. The thin beeping of a phone number being dialed rang through the air as he trailed out of the lounge room and out of sight down the hallway to contact whoever it was that he wanted to speak with away from Light's ears. A stab of irritation jolted through Light, that L chose to so obviously withhold his conversation from him, but there was no point in getting up and following him. If L was going to retain information from his prisoner, Light supposed that was his right, though it certainly had him feeling bitter again.

He finished his tempura and soba noodles in silence, his ears catching only the howling of the wind outside, and he wondered aimlessly when the summer would come in an effort to distract himself. But the pang in his chest wouldn't go away. It was an oddly empty feeling, manifesting inside of him as he watched the dance of the snow against the glass panes. It was a pity that L hadn't brought him to Hawaii instead of wherever they were now, but in the end it didn't really matter if he was just kept shoved aside and locked away for the rest of his life.

Dullness. Uselessness.

Boredom.

"Wedy will be there," L informed him as he stalked back a few minutes later. He hopped on to his couch across from Light and crumpled his knees into his chest, hunching over and keeping his eyes on his companion's as he reached for his fork again. "She will set up extra video cameras in secrecy tonight, so Ross won't go anywhere that we cannot monitor him. Of course, she wasn't happy about having to abandon the heist she was going to partake in later today in order to catch the plane, but alas, duty calls."

"Duty, huh?"

The detective pointed his fork at his chest after discarding a cube of cake into his mouth. "I have a lot of people in my debt. When I caught Aiber and Wedy, they agreed to assist me whenever I asked for it in return for not turning them in to the authorities. That's why they came to help with the Kira case as soon as Aizawa left and I needed extra men."

"I would have agreed to that sort of deal," Light muttered, wondering without much amusement what his life would have been like if L had let him go upon extracting a confession with the promise that he'd lend his skills if the detective ever needed help in upcoming cases.

"Oh, the deal is basically the same. The terms are just a little.. different." L furrowed his brows, tilting his head downward but peering carefully at Light. After a brief hesitation, L explained, "Because you're a little different."

Light curled a hand under his chin, meeting L coolly, but he found himself feeling more addled than anything. He was grasping at straws here, and had the rising urge to ask _how_. Not because he wasn't different, indeed, he knew that he had been different all of his life. That wasn't arrogance, that was only the stifled kind of isolation that one can only feel in a crowd. The kind that existed regardless of a loving family, a multitude of people he casually called friends and a society that welcomed him – his image, at least – with open arms.

Of course, L's reasons for not letting Light free with a promise to help him with his cases whenever he needed him were obvious enough. Even though Light did not believe he had been wrong in anything that he did, not in any name that he wrote nor any lie that he told, it wasn't difficult to be objective and see that his crimes had the highest body count of anyone in modern times short of warmongers, and had generated by far the most publicity and civil unrest. Kira could never be brushed under a rug. What L should have done though – what Light would have done in his position – was execute Kira privately. The fact that L had the resources to pull this stunt didn't explain why. Were they really practical in nature, done to put Light's intellect and deductive abilities to use? Were the reasons political, taking into account unfavorable reactions from ICPO and the UN? Were they personal, pertaining specifically to the rivalry that Light and L had generated?

At first, Light had despised when L looked at him like that, like he was trying to see straight through Light's eyes and into his soul by tearing down all of his defenses until he was exposed and vulnerable. Then he had realized that the truth was, no one had _ever_ looked at him that way before. It offended him as much as it excited him. Not his friends and not even his family had tried to see past his skin and his grade report. Even if the reasons had been to tear Kira apart, L was the one and only person who wanted to know him. The real Light Yagami.

And there was something about L looking at him in that way that made something inside of him stir in a way that he wasn't sure could be satiated.

"Did I upset you?" L asked with apparently genuine concern.

Light shook his head. "I wasn't upset. Just thinking."

"Yet you look uncertain. Perhaps you're thinking about the wrong things." When Light raised his eyebrows, L gave goofy smile. "Well, if Light-kun were thinking correctly, I'm confident he would have solved his conundrum by now. My confidential sources draw me to the conclusion that he is quite a smart cookie. Brainy. Cunning. Whatever." To illustrate, L rapped his knuckles against his own head.

Surprised, Light paused, and then nodded. "Yes, maybe I'll solve it soon."

* * *

With Watari still absent and wordless as to when he would arrive back in America, L took no hesitations in making preparations to investigate mafia boss Rod Ross on his own. Much to Light's disbelief, L's plan involved actually attending a fine charity banquet under the guise of being interested in buying the cocaine that Ross was supplying. ("Well, at least you'll fit the part," Light finally contended. "You _look_ like a crack addict if I ever saw one.") Not that L, naturally, was without inside contacts. He had long since bought and sealed the loyalty of one of Ross's henchman, Cairo immigrant turned downtown New Yorker Al Meem, who ever since the Kira outbreak was going officially by the _nom de guerre_ of Rashual Bid. Light was a bit annoyed at the notion of criminals taking preventative measures against their judgments, but to be fair it couldn't be his concern anymore.

Light had found numerous occasions to remind L that at five star hotels, there was a dress code that he actually had to adhere by. Light was, admittedly, greatly anticipating what L's choice of attire would be. He honestly expected L to come out wearing his preferred white cotton shirt and baggy jeans with the same clueless expression that he had worn during the formal To-Oh orientation ceremony and jilt fashion expectations, despite the fact that the man had assured him (twice) that he did indeed own a suit, and yes, it would be ironed. He was about as convinced as he might have been if L had told him that he ate three servings of vegetables every day when Light wasn't looking and took his coffee with Splenda.

Somehow, L had found a way to surprise Light yet again. When he shuffled into the room with nothing more than a frown to suggest that he was cognizant of the clothing situation, Light had to double-take to make sure that this man really was the same disorderly detective. The jeans were gone in favor of pleated black slacks, and instead of a ragged shirt he wore a pressed buttoned white linen underneath a padded dark jacket. Even more unexpectedly, underneath a top hat that should have looked gaudy if only the whole spectacle wasn't too shocking in the first place to worry about details, L's hair looked unusually _combed_, falling strikingly over his dark eyes. Light had never previously been inclined to call L a particularly handsome man, if anything, L's appearance was too slovenly and frankly peculiar to label as anything at all. But had he not known L as well as he did, he might have thought this man looked strangely classy dressing in alignment with his annual wage.

"What?" L asked with a note of annoyance at Light's unnerved stare. "Perhaps you should believe what I tell you more frequently."

Light cleared his throat to bite back a snide statement on how believing whatever came out of L's mouth would be the absolute stupidest thing he could ever do, and focused his attention of finding a flaw as he ran his eyes up and down L's person. "You can pilot a helicopter but you can't tie a tie?"

The detective's hands grasped the silk fabric around his neck, and his frown deepened. He pulled at it indignantly. "It's been a long time since I've had to do this... I thought it looked right."

"The end should align perfectly with the front. If the tail sticks out at all, you look like either a jerk or an idiot."

"That's fine," L simpered, loosening the knot. "I don't need a tie."

"Without a tie you'll just look like a thug. Here, I'll do it," Light offered without thinking, and stepped forward to take the thing in his own hands and grabbed it before L could back off. After a short struggle with some ridiculous knot that L had somehow managed to conceive, he took it off altogether and straightened the wrinkles with his thumb. It wasn't until he felt L exhale a sigh, the warm breath brushing against his neck, that he began to feel awkward being this close and doing this kind of thing_. _But instead of retreating, he smirked with a sideways tilt of his head at Ryuuzaki, and wrapped the tie around his neck, teasingly crossing the ends. "It's like a noose..."

L's hands rose and gingerly clasped around Light's, which held each end like a rope. He lead them apart without force or struggle to cease the silk's constriction. "It's nice to see Light-kun's smile, though it's a bit disconcerting that it's only visible when he's thinking about my execution..."

With a pause, Light's expression faded save for the pointed concentration resonating in his eyes to match L's own. L's hands were cold against his skin, just as they always were, and the way he held them Light's hands brushed against the fabric of his sleeves. Light glanced down at them, and in that moment L released his hands, and he pulled them away and took the tie again.

"Don't worry," Light finally said with played carelessness. "I'm smiling because you look ridiculous. That's all."

At that, he began to wind the tie correctly in a formula that he had memorized since he was old enough to attend his father's formal work parties with his mother. Since those days when he was hardly seven years old, he had attended a number of community and school events. Even without being a rich celebrity model like Misa, he had been raised in an environment that valued crisp outward appearance, so knowing how to properly adorn a suit was second nature to him. After all, had he not become Kira, he was certain that he would have been able to work his way up to being the NPA director. Presenting himself respectfully was a must. It was ironic that his fashion talent hadn't quite gone to waste, as he expected after his arrest and wardrobe of strictly baggy clothes, even if it wasn't put to use for himself but Ryuuzaki of all people.

And it _was_ funny seeing L in these clothes.

"Absurd," Light muttered, straightening L's tie after it had been tightened and the task completed. Then he backed up to admire his handiwork, and he laughed out loud. "Stand up straight. Honestly, how can you wear a two thousand dollar suit and slouch like that?"

"It's extraordinarily uncomfortable," L sighed dramatically, resisting an urge to scratch his leg with the leather shoe he was wearing. "My deductive abilities decrease when I'm uncomfortable. I'm a bit ashamed that I'm forced to take this ridiculous position. Alas, being short-staffed means taking upon wretched field work myself."

"You're a detective," the teen reprimanded heartlessly. "What kind of detective hates field work?"

"Field work does give me the opportunity to confront suspects directly as opposed to through a proxy," he admitted, lifting an arm and frowning as the suit restrained his movement. "Actually, I used to primarily do this kind of thing. Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good at blending in when I need to. But that doesn't mean it isn't bothersome. I've thought about hiring on-call staff to be available for this sort of thing at all times."

"...You could let me go instead of you." It wasn't really a serious suggestion and Light understood that as well as L did, but it seemed so sensible all of the sudden that he voiced his thoughts anyway. What exactly did he have to lose these days? "I'm pretty natural in a suit, and I'm sure I'm far more charismatic socially than you no matter how good to claim to be."

L's face transformed in an instant to blank, save for the frost in his eyes, and his voice was sharp with warning. "That's not an option." The statement left no room for question, and made it quite clear that not only would he not consider loosening Light's leash so far tonight, but never would. Then, as though to lighten the situation after he had made his point so firmly, L put a thumb to his lip and stared. "Though I would like to see Light-kun in a suit again. He looked so... snazzy."

Though he had mostly been joking when he said it, the tone that L took with him then made him angry. After a simmering moment, he finally conceded. "Whatever. What else do you need before you go?"

"Ah, yes. What else, what else... Here," L answered, retrieving a steel pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, much further to Light's dismay. At the displeased look, L's eyes widened into innocence. "Why the long face? Watari will give me an earful if I leave Kira unattended without proper precautions. He'll give me a lecture and send me to bed without supper. You've yet to see his true wrath, I'm afraid."

"The biometric door locks, video cameras, alarms and computer firewalls aren't proper enough for Watari?" he complained, but with a grab at dignity he calmly held out his wrists for L to snap them on. It wasn't like L had ever bent his resolve to accommodate Light's comfort before and there wasn't a great change he would start now.

"Watari is very strict, and awfully frightening when I'm disobedient," he said flatly, holding on to Light's hands to briskly test the hold of the cuffs while smiling that dopey smile. "So take good care of the computers while I'm gone, won't you, Light-kun?"

Light watched L leave out the elevator and heard the hiss of electronic seal behind him. He waited until he was certain that the detective was gone before allowing himself a thoughtful smile. L had left at 18:20, and the banquet began at 19:00. The slim time slot indicated like solid fact that Light must have lived his last couple months in the same large city as the Plaza Hotel: New York City.

Interesting.

* * *

It was not a method that Quillsh Wammy would have condoned, L thought candidly as the chauffeur to the limousine he hired opened the door to let him in, but it had been many years since the old man had gone from being his guardian to being, for all practical purposes, his subordinate. He supposed that he could have forced Aiber or some other indebted ally he had collected over the years to attend the banquet in his stead, and he could have stayed at headquarters with Light. But there were two reasons that L chose to go personally: first, L felt if not personally responsible at least personally a cause of whatever was going on with the remnants of Beyond Birthday's behavior. As such, BB had at least successfully captured his attention for the moment, and he was driven to see it all through. Secondly, there was something strangely satisfying about leaving Light behind to be his communicator, and knowing that Light had no room to disobey for any missteps on his part would result in his execution by Watari. Light was forced to value L's life as his own, and use the entirety of his vast intellect to become L's partner - almost like a new Watari. As far as the spectrum of "interesting" went, this was definitely on the "amusing" end.

L turned his head to the side, resisting these distracting thoughts and focusing on the task at hand. He was armed and wearing a bulletproof vest. He had plenty (but not too much) money in credits and cash, an earbud transmitter and tiny microphone on the inside of his collar that was hooked up to Light's computer. For any sort of emergency situation, he also had a remote control embedded into the watch he wore that would contact the FBI if he needed them, and under the signature of a Gothic font letter "L" that would demand obedience at a higher price than Ross could have possibly bought them off with. If there was one thing that L would absolutely not stand for, it was any policing organization bowing to crime lower than they bowed to justice. If for whatever reason that failed, he would transfer the demand to the military.

If all went according to plan, Ross would be in custody, and L would confirm that he had dealings with David Castleton, which would conclusively connect him to the Berlin bombings and Beyond Birthday. An extra bonus would be finding any suspicious details that could be connected to this Beyond Birthday phenomenon. Worst case scenario, this operation would be a waste of time, but at least it would be amusing with present circumstances in consideration.

"_There are security guards._" Light's voice sounded smoothly into the top of the line transmitter. "_But I don't think they can be relied on to protect anyone other than the snobs that Ross is selling cocaine to._"

The security wouldn't be a problem for him. More likely than not, hotel staff wanted to stay as far away from mafia politics as they could and would close their eyes and whistle if anything particularly illegal happened. That was fine – it wasn't only the mafia that would necessarily be breaking the law tonight.

"Welcome to the Hotel Plaza's annual Children of the World's charity banquet, sir," said a well-dressed man with a list, standing on door duty with two muscled bouncers behind him. "Name, please?"

"Johnathon Lombardi," L answered curtly. The real Mr. Lombardi wouldn't be attending tonight.

* * *

Despite his reasons for being in this position, Light felt strangely vindicated at being alone in this dark room, surrounded by an absolute powerhouse in computerized technology that spread instantly across the world. All at his fingertips – in theory, anyway, as the firewalls had L set up were as good as steel bars. It was easy not to dwell on such a thought when the monitors of fourteen computers lit up with footage from thirty-five cameras masterly placed everywhere of relevance at the hotel. For the first time in a long time, he even felt in control of L as he reported the things that only he could see. An excitement rolled in the pit of his stomach, shivering up his spine and to his brain. Being in this room and manning the computers was as close to being God that he would ever be again, and after months of being lower than dirt, the experience was therapeutic.

The banquet itself looked straight out of some American Hollywood flick. Men and women who lit up their cigarettes with one hundred dollar bills just for show strutted around like peacocks in silk and furs. A gaggle of tuxedo-clad gentlemen amused themselves with a game of pool and a conversation of economics and the proposed healthcare bills, as the champagne-sipping women plastered on smiles like they did their lipstick and spoke through their teeth of the woes of poverty in Africa. A lull of soft music blanketed the scene from a rich ivory grand piano, giving a superficial aura to a two-faced event.

After all, many of them wouldn't have even heard about this 'charity event' if they didn't know that Rod Ross was pushing the purest cocaine in New York City. Even if they emptied their wallets tonight, in their crowds they knew that the product was hot enough to resell for even more. Providing they didn't keep the goods for themselves, which Light was more than willing to consider. Aristocrats couldn't keep away from the stuff for long, it seemed, and inevitably a destroyed reputation or suicidal overdose (or both) was often looming in their future.

He diligently alerted L of everything he saw through the microphone, while simultaneously comparing profiles and assessing backgrounds. Most attendees were rich businessmen with too much cash to burn, some, as L had surmised, had been skipping around the law for years with anything from credit fraud to flat out employee theft. Light was reminded of Kyōsuke Higuchi, development executive at Yotsuba, third Kira and Light's very final judgment. Sleazy scum, the lot of them. They took without giving back, they cheated without remorse. Who but their mothers would miss them if this kind of trash was taken out permanently?

Rod Ross himself arrived late, stepping like a proud animal out of his sleek Ferrari and carelessly tossing the keys to the first hotel employee he saw at the door. Light recognized him in a split second, and not even from the dossiers that he had long since memorized. Donning mirrored sunglasses and swaggering ahead of two heavy goons that did for bodyguards, the man wasn't just flaunting his success as a mobster – he was putting on a show. After all, this was a grand slam moneymaker. His buyers would willingly pay almost any price he demanded, and 'almost' meant a hell of a lot.

"Remember what I said about thugs?" Light asked distastefully, studying Monitor 2 which was trained on the men's restroom. "Ross isn't wearing a tie, and he didn't even button his shirt. It's a violet dress shirt, black leather pants and a gaudy golden chain. God, this guy isn't even trying to be inconspicuous, is he?"

"_Why should he?_" L murmured into his collar. "_He doesn't want to risk losing a deal because someone didn't recognize him._"

No, Ross was certainly no aristocrat like his high-class customers. He was born and hardened in the slums, and the alpha wolf of his pack because of brawn and street smarts moreso than actual leadership intelligence. Light had no doubt that the man was carrying a handgun in addition to the coke. Heaven knew what else was on him for no other reason than he could, and get away with it, too. Ross had no fear. He was so _filthy _rich, well-armed, and probably using daily. The only opposition that a dog like this couldn't send his lackeys to murder or pay off – the opposition that would judge him wicked – was unable to touch him. He was watching the scum right now with red in his eyes, but the Shinigami in him had been forcibly amputated.

Well... Kira was not quite the only opposition, Light admitted to himself as he watched L saunter across Monitor 6. And no matter which force of justice delivered the blow, Rod Ross would be getting what was coming to him tonight.

* * *

When Rod Ross entered the Grand Ballroom, looking like a hyena grazing with a herd of sheep, L took careful note of him but did not pursue. Not yet. He stayed against the wall, pretending to take a sip of wretchedly unsweet champagne as his wide eyes continued to scan the party guests. Though L was confident that he could hold his own physically, there would be no point in confronting the mafia leader in a room full of mafia. L was fully willing to take risks, but only if he knew he would win.

Ross may have bought out the police, but buying loyalties was a game that two could play. When L's eyes dangerously locked onto those of Al Meem's, a thin man with scraggly gray hair, he visibly gulped. L nodded his head slightly to call him forward. Playing two teams for maximum profits certainly the mobster's ass on the line, but L hardened his gaze to show his lack of sympathy. There was hesitation and a flash of badly masked panic across his face as he checked to ensure no one was watching him, but he obediently trudged his way.

"Good evening, Mr. Meem," L hummed, leaning forward. "My name is Johnathon Lombardi. I'm here on behalf of a _very _important client. Can you take a guess at who that is?"

The question made Meem cough and scratch his head. "Well, I..." His voice trailed off, and he stared at L terrified, perhaps that he would guess the wrong 'very important client' and be shot on sight. L just smiled, until the man finally got out, "You work for Danuve."

"Very good, Al," the detective answered light-heartedly, going straight to a first name basis after the successful guess of another of his top-detective aliases. "Now I'd like to have a bit of a private chat, if that's quite all right. No, don't whisper, whispering is just so obvious! You don't want your boss to know that you're about to tell Interpol's top agent what he's been up to, do you?"

Hardened mafia killer or not, Al Meem was quickly reduced to whining. "No, no. Please, I've already risked enough by leaking to L what I know! Are you trying to get me killed? He'll know it's me!"

"If he knows it won't matter after tonight," he asserted nonchalantly. "Danuve has some personal business with Rod, and I'm afraid you won't be seeing him for awhile. But incidentally, while he's out of commission, someone's going to need to take the reigns of the gang. Danuve just might be able to pull some strings for a man of his confidence."

The offer of power instantly changed Meem's face from a pathetic cringe to that of a pirate presented with gold – indeed, there wasn't much actual difference between the analogy and reality. But inadequate as Meem was standing next to current mob lord, he wasn't stupid. Suspicion made his brow crease into thick wrinkles. "But why the hell would Danuve back me up? He only made a deal with me in the first place to keep tabs on the mafia. If I was in control, wouldn't I be his next target?"

L let out a small huff of a chuckle that was completely sincere in its total condensation. "Listen Al, let's be honest. You're really not his top priority at the moment. Actually, neither is Ross. Danuve is investigating something much bigger, that your boss may be connected to."

Though perhaps a bit humiliated, Meem couldn't treat insult with the same bullet-flying respects that would be protocol on the streets. Not here, and not with Danuve's 'proxy'. Instead, he glanced again around them to ensure that none of his lawless coworkers were watching and that the voices of the crowd and music masked their conversation. A trickle of sweat rolled down his chin in a heavy drop. Then he cleared his throat again and started. "The boss's been pushing to higher and higher crowds. Now that Kira's gone, no one has to hide under the rocks anymore. Rod's really lookin' to hit big. We got deals all the way from the East coast to Europe. Kira wiped out a lot of the drug trade while he's around, so Rod is monopolizing the area for whoever wants to buy. We're racking up big time."

"_There are a number of German businessmen here tonight,_" Light pointed out in L's ear. "_Ross definitely wouldn't have had to meet with Goddard personally in order for coke to wind up in Berlin."_

"So what is it?" L asked curiously. "Just the cocaine?"

Meem laughed nervously. "Shit's only part of it. Rod's got access to everything known to America. Got speed, the shrooms, acid, reefers – he's got the numbers of the manufacturers on fuckin' speed dial. And he can pay the bastards more than they ever got before because he's one of the only major dealers who still got balls to buy. And anyone else who wants in on the cash... well, we've been taking care of them pretty quick, if you catch my drift."

"Indeed. So he's got brains in there somewhere." L glanced over at the boisterous ringleader in question, who had both arms around two young women clad in revealing silk and stuffed with silicone. Maybe they thought they could get a special discount like that. "Your syndicate's morale must be at an all-time high, isn't that right, Al?"

"Sure it is. For the people who don't know him, anyway." Meem pushed his glasses up on his face with one knobby finger, and brushed the wads of perspiration off of his nose. "The thing is... well, he's been acting kinda strange lately. He's using too much, and it shows. Sometimes he talks to himself, and he gets the craziest ideas in his head. He's always been a bastard but now he'll carve up his own men just because they looked at him wrong. 'Course none of us are thrilled if our leader's a junkie. We're not just some- some damn little street gang, you know. We're a business."

L raised an eyebrow at that. "He carves them up?"

"Kills 'em slowly, yanno? Or has one of us do it." Not a muscle twitched on the gangster's face, and there was no particular regret aside from the basic fear that he might be next. For him, it was a dog eat dog world and survival of the most brutal. "Fuckin' shit, and cleaning up what's left is the worst."

When B carved up victims, it wasn't because he worried about his own life. B carved up his victims to get L's attention. But for him, it was no different than carving up some small animal that he caught at Wammy's House. For him, it was intriguing, it was science, it was art. It was a game. The crime photos of mangled bodies with severed limbs strung into the shape of arrows on a clock formulated vividly in L's brain. L had studied them for hours, so perfectly envisioning his would-be replacement destroying the human bodies with the same care and gore as though he were dissecting a specimen in a laboratory. _He carves them up... kills them slowly._

"Thanks for the information, Al," L said brightly. "Tell me one more thing. Is there anything that he's trying to get out of this? Aside from money, that is."

"Shit. What does the sonuvabitch want?" Meem closed his eyes for a second, another obvious drop of sweat sliding down his rough skin. "He wants Kira."

_Kira? _L had to double-take at that. Light was silent on the microphone, which was preferable – L needed no unwanted distractions from the whirling in his brain. A radical pro-Kira group blows up a building with the message that L, who was Kira's enemy, knew what they wanted. At the time, L assumed that they had (correctly) figured that L had indeed captured Kira and was holding him in custody. It seemed clear that Frederick Goddard's motives had to be just that. It was so plain that L had to question it even then. Yet finding the straw dolls among the wreckage had turned the tables. Only those involved in the Los Angeles BB case knew about the straw dolls. And only the late Naomi Misora and L knew that they were connected to himself. But now, back to Kira?

"Please explain."

Meem shook his head. "It's not like Rod's one of those pro-Kira lunatics, for chrissake. He says he wants Kira's powers. Sure, don't we all, and he doesn't know anymore about Kira than the rest of us. And we all know that L probably already got to the bastard and he's rotting six feet under. But he's obsessed. He even funded an overseas attack to try to draw out Kira. 'Course it didn't work. Maybe being a multi-millionaire just isn't enough anymore and he wants to control the world with Kira's power. But the way he talks to himself about needing Kira, needing to get him for all of the plans to work... The fucker's losing it, Lombardi. The sooner Danuve takes him out, the better for all of us."

"I'll calm your worries," L said, turning to go.

"Wait!" L stopped and glanced back to Meem, who was again glancing around for anyone who might have heard his outburst as though his life depended on it. "It's like he's possessed, okay? It's like he says things that he never said before, even when he was high. Different words and shit and – fucking hell, I dun' even think he know what the words meant. There's something unnatural about it all. Fuckin' unnatural."

L, who had always been adverse to considering supernatural forces until it slammed him in the face, slowly set down his champagne glass on the nearest table. After a pause, he asked, "Al. How exactly did your boss think he was going to win Kira?"

"He said it was plain an' simple," Meem said, tipping his glass toward his boss, who was holding up a joint. "'_Kill L_.' If he kills L, he says, then he gets Kira."

* * *

Light closed his eyes briefly as he sipped a cooled black coffee to take a short moment to contemplate his thoughts. Even if Rod Ross had different motives, he funded a somewhat dysfunctional radical group to get at Kira. Having Kira's power to kill with just a name and a face would certainly be desirable to any criminal. It was virtually impossible, but Light had to cringe at the notion of Ross stumbling across a Death Note. Would-haves aside, the story was sound. Who then was the one that instigated the Berlin bombing? Was it indeed Rod Ross, who found tracked down the most fanatic group possible? But if so, why in Germany of all places? On the other hand, was it Frederick Goddard who sought out Ross during a drug trade with promises of Kira's power?

There was a missing factor, and that was the _wara ningyo_. The thing that delved into a deeper truth than the surface would allow for: someone wanted Ryuuzaki. Not only had they unquestionably assumed that L had Kira in custody, it was almost as if this original source was using Kira to get to L. Or was it instead using L to get to Kira?

"What do you think, Ryuuzaki?" Light said dryly into the microphone. "Are you going to trade me over to them?"

L didn't answer, of course. Light thought he witnessed a flicker of irritation across L's otherwise stoic face, or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Well, if you aren't going to make a trade, it seems that Rod doesn't intend to be very negotiable," he continued, getting strange enjoyment out of pointing out the obvious. "How does he think he's going to kill you?"

He heard the slightest huff of annoyance in the speakers of their two-way communication.

"I suppose he could ambush you right now. You are, after all, alone in a room full of armed thugs."

At that, L whipped a glare straight into the camera that Light was watching him through. As if he psychically knew – quite unnerving, but somehow not surprising (which made it even more unnerving). Light wisely chose to keep quiet.

* * *

There was nearly no chance at all that Rod Ross would know what L's face looked like, and even if he did, L was a skilled disguise artist. With foundation tanning his normally pale skin tone and color contacts on top of the costume, one would have to study him carefully to pinpoint him as L indeed unless they knew him very well. L also was no stranger to being on the death lists of criminals, he was probably number one on the mafia's Most Wanted and if he wasn't, he would have been terribly insulted. Meem's warning was the usual useless drivel, and if he had backed down every time he was made aware that someone wanted him dead... well, he wouldn't have made a very good detective, let alone have Kira in his custody.

But there was something that L did not like, a factor that was like a droplet of icy water running down his back – small but unignorable. And that was that he was now convinced that Ross had some connection to Beyond Birthday. In the hypothetical situation that Ross was indeed connected to Goddard, there must be a third party that supplied information about B – or was the information about L? At any rate, finding out about the _wara ningyo _was substantially easier than finding a picture of L, as L had never bothered to cover up that seemingly irrelevant case. But making such a thing indicative of L was completely different. Naomi Misora was the only agent L used during that case, and, thanks to Light, she was now deceased. If Beyond Birthday was the third party, and somehow Ross was his pawn the same as Goddard, then the last thing L should have been doing was standing less than twenty feet away from him.

Yet L was morbidly intrigued.

Pushing rationality aside for the sake of free range evaluation, and given the premise that Beyond Birthday's spirit was somehow possessing various and seemingly unrelated human beings around the globe, L threw out "how" for the moment and focused on "why". They were not random, instead, Beyond Birthday would be weaving a web meant for ultimately getting to L. So why the elaborate schemes? No, Beyond loved complexity, but his last failed attempt at garnering L's full attention, the BB Murder Case, was set up obviously with the climactic twist meant for the finale. Perhaps these men were the best that B could do. Perhaps there was a limit to his influence, and considering the almost year lapse between B's death (and presumed ascension into the ghastly haunt he hypothetically was now), perhaps men such as these were truly the best he could come up with. They were loud, boisterous. They could be heard. But why not go after L directly? Why--

Because L could not be heard. Because he was the most well-hidden detective of the century. Because perhaps Beyond had not found him yet.

And if that was the case, L was presenting himself to Beyond on a silver platter. He was staring at Rod Ross (B's proxy?) and watching as his head slowly began to turn, his eyes coming to meet L's face-

All of the sudden, there was such a slam through the wooden doors of the entryway that everyone's attention was actually diverted from the scene. Strutting forward, pink-faced, and extremely (or so it seemed) inebriated, none other than Wedy made her presence known. Beckoned by the silent press of a button as L's first line of defense in the event that he needed to lose himself in the crowd and evacuate.

"Oh, this party! So _fuckin'_ stiff! Says I'm makin' a scene. Who says I'm making a scene?" The bravado of her voice made even the pianist abandon his job. She swayed and hiccupped in her designer dress and stiletto heels, and suddenly waved frantically in the general direction of Rod. "Hey, baby! Baby, big boy, over here! You'd better remember me, honey, or I'll be makin' trouble!"

An extremely baked Rod stared and let out an audible sigh, as though raking his brain for the name to go with the face he probably had once been acquainted with somewhere in the dredges of the criminal underworld. "Yeah, I know you. C'mere, let me get a better look. Did I invite you, babe?"

"Coke invited me. Gave me a call up and begged me to come." Wedy kicked a heel up onto the cushioned booth that Rod was seated at, growling at the blonde lady who had been moments before cuddled up to the mafia lord. "Move over, sweetie, the grown-ups need to talk. Go on and play with your toys – and I'm not talking about all that plastic you keep under your fat. And you – who designed that monstrosity you're wearing? Do yourself a favor and sue. Make a buck. Move! Move!"

And just ever so slightly, Wedy glanced in L's direction as he slowly made his way toward the door. L discretely held up five fingers – _five minutes until the FBI gets here. _

"_West exit is clear of any of Rod's gang. Only hotel security. Taxi is waiting and,_" there was a flurry of Light's typing. "_-I'm already looping the camera footage that caught any direct shot of your face. FBI is on the way to capture Ross. Is there anything else you need?_"

"Yes," L murmured into his collar. "Put on a pot of coffee, won't you, please?"

* * *

The sky was too dark for even the moon to shine by the time L arrived back at his apartment. With retinal verification and passcode, he silently followed his own shadow through the underground private entrance that he and Watari so often used to keep their complex lives as reticent as possible. Layers of concrete and steel, the highest quality modern technology had to offer in surveillance cameras, including thermographic capabilities, and enough alarms and security measures made this building, unknown to its renters, a fortress. That was even without including its armory, of sorts: a culmination of Watari's inventive talents and a hardened history in the British Secret Intelligence Service had armed them with helicopters on a hidden deck in the roof, cars with the strength of tanks, and of course a wall decked with hand weaponry, should it ever be necessary. And at the height of it was L and his jurisdiction. No one entered without authorization. No one left, either.

L and Watari had drawn out the blueprints themselves, and with their combined brains, L should have been sure that it was simply unbreakable. He should have not even cared enough to smirk at the thought of someone following him, nor shiver at what felt like a chilly hand pawing his shoulder. But he felt no arrogance and little confidence. All his eyes could gather as he rode the elevator up to the top levels was his own reflection in the mirrored walls. He pressed a hand against his reflection's own, heart thumping against his ribcage, and could not quite convince himself that it wasn't Beyond Birthday staring back at him.

Had Beyond Birthday instigated this whole act just to find L? Did he find him in that little split-second glance that Ross had given him?

No....That was what he would want. To unnerve L out of his rationality, to pull him into impulse and paranoia. That was what he'd always wanted. It didn't work before. L defeated him without emotion, not so much as batting an eye. He was just a backup, no longer necessary. But before, Beyond had been human.

And now? What was he now? With all the earthly powers that L had in his possession, how could be possibly fight a ghost?

The elevator reached the penthouse with a meek chime and the doors rumbled open. L was jolted out his thoughts by the sight of Light. The teen had been sitting on a red leather couch that was near the entry, and upon his arrival had stood up and turned to him. Tawny hair framed a curious expression, one with clear uncertainty in the arch of his brows and unspoken questions in the frown of his lips. Light crossed his arms and seemed to wait for L to say the first words, but when the detective merely threw his suit jacket to a crumpled heap on the floorboards, Light spoke.

"Are you... all right?"

L ripped off his shoes, freeing his toes. He stared at nothing in particular while he opened his mouth, only to close it again. "Thank you for all your hard work, Light-kun," he finally dismissed, falling into his usual slouch and starting to step toward the kitchen area. "You did make coffee, right?"

Feeling Light's eyes on him as tangibly as the words he was not saying, L stopped.

"Don't ignore me," he heard him say.

L turned his neck to peer at his nemesis, prisoner and obsession. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the evening's events that made him take in Light's image as though he hadn't seen him in months. Maybe, in a way, a certain crucial part of Light had indeed been vacant during the captivity. Be it the arrogance, the smug expression of sure victory, or his quest for divinity, the physical ramifications had certainly made him a sight to behold for anyone who had known him before. He was ashen, though the gold-orange of the interior lighting warmed skin that had long since lost its tan during the months of confinement. Light looked ragged, too, with hair tousled and wearing the loose, plain clothing that L had provided him with. He would never lose his proud posture nor the radiating authority of his presence, but keeping up with crisp appearances seemed to be a luxury both pointless and difficult.

Light's fingers were curling, but there wasn't the rage that L managed to summon, and not always intentionally, when he was in a foul mood. Instead Light seemed distraught, the sheet of indifference on his face almost transparent to one who knew him well. "I just really hate it when you ignore me."

"Ignore you?" L repeated. Inwardly, he supposed that there must be nothing more frustrating to a god than to be ignored. Especially a god who was used to garnering the awe-struck reverence of everyone around him. Light had one fundamental difference from L – while L functioned discreetly in the shadows, Light flourished in the sunlight where everyone would deliberately see him, and frankly, Light wouldn't have it any other way. Light operated on the level of titans in his patience and willpower. However, his psyche wasn't immortal nor all-powerful as Kira might have hoped. The worst punishment Light could have received was to be locked away and ignored for the rest of his life, left to rot completely alone in the darkness. But L had not done that, not quite, anyway. And despite rationalizations of punishment, of making him useful, of humiliating him by keeping him close to his victor, L had assumed some small iota of Light's being had understood. Which was why he was puzzled for a moment. "Light-kun, how could I ever ignore you?"

Light grit his teeth, perhaps fifty different responses at the tip of his serpentine tongue but vying instead for simply sidestepping his claims. "I want to be a part of this," he admitted. "And you wouldn't have asked for my help tonight unless you wanted it to be me. You know I don't have anything left. You made sure that even if I did escape, I'd have nowhere to go. Have you condemned me to being nothing but your dog? We both know I'm more capable than that, and in the end you and I want to achieve the same things. Obviously this isn't how I wanted my life to be, but as is, I have to concede that this is the best situation I could..." His voice trailed off for a moment, as if to consider the brutal alternatives. "What I'm saying is, I'm not going anywhere. I want to be here with you."

"I appreciate that unusual sentiment," L said after a pause. "Though your record for emotional sincerity isn't exactly spotless. Either way, evidence would quite conspicuously concludes that I want you here as well. What exactly is it that you're getting at? I'm afraid I'm not going to unleash you by motivating words alone."

"I'm not asking you to forget that I'm Kira," Light growled.

"I don't imagine either of us would want that."

"All I'm saying is _please_ don't push me aside and hide from me." At this point, the distress was openly across his face and tainting his voice. He fell a step and lowered his head into his handcuffed hands, fingers entwining into his tousled hair. "I'm at the edge here, Ryuuzaki. I don't have it in me anymore. I have innumerable desultory factors that make up my current situation, and I plug them into every calculation I can devise. But mathematically, my answer can't be simplified. Following logical reasoning, I don't know how I'm supposed to react, or when it's okay to give in, or how much weight I should put into my own dignity – after defining it, which is another postulate on its own. But L is impossible to discern because I thought I knew you once, but new developments make me realize that while my life was nothing until I got the Death Note and he challenged me to a battle of wits, I'm just a single chapter in his own private memoirs. I have hatred for you," he pronounced definitely, "but that's not enough to discount before, or at least how I felt. Without my memories of Kira, that is, but essentially I was and am the same Light Yagami. It's as though to understand myself anymore, I have to understand you, and that's impossible when I think of you as just my enemy and just my jailer..."

His thoughts were spoken like verbal vertigo, uncertainty struggling with absolution. Light being honest was a rarity on its own, let alone Light opening up to reveal all of his self-doubt and vulnerabilities. L gave him his silence so that he may find the words to navigate the labyrinth of his own mind. Beyond Birthday suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to Light. No, whether he doubted himself or not, Light would never lose the ability to captivate. When Light faltered, L sauntered toward him and extended a hand, resting it delicately on his shoulder.

"...Teaming with you tonight made everything feel easy. It's always easier to play a game and focus on your pieces, but tonight, you and I were on the same side. I can't shake off the memories, nor can I control them. And I wonder if perhaps I'm being counterproductive by trying to reason this, when..." Light's eyes narrowed curiously, "...my body instinctively knows the answers."

"Light," L said tersely, not bothering with honorifics to get straight to the point. "I don't have much honor and I am selfish. I don't feel conflicted often because I take what I want, and the things that I want are easily justified. You know that already, so you know me pretty well. But I also have my own code of honor, weak and pliable though it can be if there's a greater cause that needs accommodating. You are my prisoner and that cannot change no matter how strongly I feel about you – incidentally, the strength of my feelings only strengthens my resolve to keep you here."

The amber in Light's eyes seemed to melt to liquid gold. "What are you getting at?"

"That you are overthinking things by trying to rationalize your emotions. Feel how you feel, because that isn't going to change no matter how diligently you try to force it one way or another. Frankly, as you said, you have nothing left to lose anyway." L paused. "For me.. it brings little heartache, should you hate me. You're mine, I won't be more selfish than that."

"But you..." and Light spit the word like poison, "_kissed_ me."

"That's right. I don't see the problem. I've done worse things to you..." and L's eyes flashed slyly, lips quirking. "...than just a kiss."

Hesitation, brief, but as loud as silence, before Light was actually flustered. "That was very different. Very different than now."

"Why so? To me, the feelings are identical. To be frank, I don't think any differently of you now than I did six months ago."

Light seemed agitated. "I was different then. You know that. It doesn't even compare-"

"You were always Light Yagami."

Light shrugged without much belief. His old self, more particularly the self he had become once surrendering his memories of the Death Note during that long period pursuing Yotsuba, had been a pawn to control no different than Misa Amane. Light looked down on that person for exactly that reason. He was predictable - indeed, Light had predicted his own actions down to the last breath - and that made him unworthy. Light had established his own inner dichotomy, well-slicing his own personality around that single and most defining date: the day the Death Note fell from the sky.

And no morbidity that Beyond Birthday could ever conjure up would be more attractive to L than that. He took Light's chin, tipping it toward him tenderly with two fingertips. "You talk too much, as usual, but I'm afraid this time you're going to have to forgo lengthy explanations and fancy words. I've tried to be on my best behavior around you, but right now you aren't making it easy. You never did, though, so I'll give you a brief window of opportunity to decide what it is you want."

Light was quiet, but the look in his eyes had all the acoustics of thunder clashing. His lips were parted, pink, lush – snarling. Proud. Hungry.

Wanting.

And that was all the time that L was willing to give him.

L was not ceremonial about it; this was not a child's romance story. He grabbed Light roughly, fingernails grazing at his back and smashing the other's cuffed wrists between their chests. Some part of Light wanted a gentle kiss, and L could feel him lurch in surprise when L thrust his tongue aggressively into Light's mouth. If he gave him tenderness now, Light would only become more frustrated and distressed at his own conflicted emotions, so it was better to make this something he would be able to identify as reflective of their relationship - and honest. Light responded accordingly; kissed him back with sharp teeth digging into his lips. His hands took L's neck and his thumbs pressed into L's throat, squeezing almost desperately as he tore at his captor, but wanting ironically something besides murder. Something maybe – ever so possibly, maybe – even more devastating than that.

* * *

Though he wanted instinctively to curl up beside L and hold him tightly in his arms - feeling as if he ignored this urge, L would be gone and leave him in the dark - he kept his arms folded proudly on his stomach and his gaze at the endless sea of lights in the city below the glass. It felt a bit bitter, but not bitter enough. It didn't feel bitter enough to emanate Kira's betrayal, and a part of that exasperated him but mostly he was relieved. Enemy regardless, his relationship with L was the most powerful thing he had anymore and the strongest things he was capable of feeling. It was okay, he told himself, to feel L's silent breaths against his naked shoulder, and it was okay to close his eyes now. Their relationship had been founded upon the tremendously fucked up to begin with, fencing with quick words and firing synapses in the brain that rivaled impossible speeds, dancing foot by foot to the words of a eulogy. Whose eulogy it was Light was certain he would find out before the very end, because though he doubted everything else, he knew he was still meant for more than this.

But, he thought, sliding his chained hands down to clasp with L's, he would worry about that later.

_~To Be Continued..._

_

* * *

_Author's Notes:

1. Hi guys, remember me? XD Bam, take that all of you who said I'd never update this again! I realize very few of you left probably remember this fanfic, if any, but as I've said, I do intend to finish this through to the end. Even if it takes... years?

2. I did away with the quotations between every scene break. I thought it was cool back when I started this fanfic, you know, two and a half years ago, but looking through my old stuff I now find it pretty obnoxious. Especially since the first chapter was initially written as an open-ended one-shot where that kind of stuff works better... hope you guys think it's cleaner this way, too.

3. Hope I didn't disappoint after so long. I chose not to include a sex scene at the end, partly for length, partly to keep with an ambiguous tone and partly because from living in Japan my English is getting really stupid and I couldn't think of pretty enough words. ; There will likely be sex scenes but I aim to keep it more artistic than pornographic, and I want to try to put L and Light's relationship above "just a yaoi" pair.

That's all from me. See you all next year! ..oh, just kidding. XD haha. Hopefully. Already started the next chapter! Thanks for reading.


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